Hopeful Idiot
by Almadynis Rayne
Summary: She looked back and forth between the two photos: Clark Kent on the right and Superman on the left. Finally, after several long minutes, she exclaimed, "That's the most idiotic disguise I've ever seen!" AU
1. Prologue

**Hopeful Idiot**

AN: Will be bouncing around more than a little bit. Canon taken from both old and new movies, as well as Smallville references. AU. Obviously.

AN2: Partially inspired by "Guidelines for Loving an Incognito Superhero" by SchadenFreude95

* * *

 **Prologue**

Knowing that _she_ would die if he didn't do something, he pulled away.

"No," the woman pleaded, trying desperately to keep holding him.

It was effortless for him to keep going. Less than effortless. It barely registered to him the woman's words or her actions. He'd barely felt her touch anyway. His mind was completely focused on what he needed to do. He didn't really have a choice. Either he did this, or _she_ died.

No, there was no choice.

So, he pulled away from the crying human female whose hair was the wrong color, already flying barely inches off the ground. Speeding toward the kryptonite-tipped lance that had oh so recently been piercing his own side.

The female new-comer heroine had wrapped the abomination in some sort of glowing rope. She cried out in exertion, using all her strength to hold the creature in place to the best of her ability, yanking on the other end. Yet, her feet still slid. The strength of twenty men, perhaps more, he'd estimated from his brief contact, and still she had to yield ground.

He saw Batman out of the corner of his eye, lining up a weapon. Being human, whatever the man had built was already as much as he could contribute to this fight. He wouldn't last more than a second or two if he directly confronted the beast.

So, once again, Clark was forced to conclude that he was all that stood between this man-made abomination and _her_. His grip on the lance tightened and he pushed aside his nausea. The increasing pain wasn't important right now.

A part of his mind acknowledged that pain wasn't going to be important at all after this.

He sped up as much as he was able over the short distance, attempting to use physics in his favor. Inertial force. Angling himself to put as small a target facing the beast as possible, thus decreasing the surface area that would make impact, and consequently the lance tip would penetrate even deeper.

As soon as he hit, the monster catching all his momentum with barely a single step backward, he twisted the lance with a sharp turn of his wrist. Doing as much damage as possible in the millisecond collision.

He barely felt the lightning that instantly exploded out of the titan upon impact. It wasn't important. He didn't notice when the heroine lost her footing entirely. The cause of releasing the monster's arms had the effect of a sharp bone lance piercing his own chest. He screamed in agony, but he didn't lose his grip on the kryptonite lance.

It was _her_ face that he saw as he reached forward to take hold of a protruding spike. Her golden-red hair brushing against his face as he nuzzled her neck.

He yanked himself forward, drilling the bone even farther, widening his own wound dangerously. _Her_ hazel eyes crinkled in laughter. Laughing at him again.

His arm pushed the kryptonite lance forward even as he pulled himself up. But he didn't see the beast. No. He saw her eyes darkening to sapphire blue in arousal as his lips found that particular sweet spot at the point of her shoulder. His teeth grazed lightly again and again, drawing such sounds from her. Sounds he craved to hear again.

He didn't feel the column of intense heat exploding out of the abomination, out of the wound site, directly toward his form. Didn't feel as the monster's grip reflexively tightened around him in its last dying moments. No. He only felt a distant echo of its continuing presence. Barely registered the odd, new sensation of what must be broken bones, followed immediately by punctured organs.

Instead, he felt her soft skin beneath his fingertips. Tasted her flesh as he used his tongue to gently kiss each mole. Felt satisfaction as he successfully redirected her self-consciousness into pleading passion. Heard her moans of pleasure rise and fall with each stroke of his fingers.

Then… an endless sea of nothingness…

She wasn't here with him. He knew that. He also knew that it was alright. Her absence, at least in this case, was just fine. He didn't mind.

This wouldn't be the first time she had made him wait.

.

. .

. . .

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. . . . . . .

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. . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . .

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. . . . . . . . . .

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. . . . _LIGHT!_

There was no warning.

No clue or hint of expectation.

From complete oblivion to an explosion.

 _ **SOUND!**_

 _ **LIGHT**_ **!**

It overwhelmed him instantly.

.

.

.

Where was he? Why did the nothingness pull at him? He didn't like it.

But no…the nothingness didn't have sound. Didn't have light. Didn't have cold.

This could not be the nothingness.

Which meant _she_ could be here… He lost his battle with the pulling— _gravity_ —and was jolted sideways and downward. He landed on a surface— _ground, concrete_ —and stepped awkwardly only a time or two before he managed to regain his equilibrium.

He stared at the chunks of large rocks— _broken, statue, big head?—_ that lay in front of a curving, layered wall filled with chiseled names. His mind filtered the data coming through his eyes, cataloging information and reminding himself of things that had once been important to him. However, these remembered new words were not in the forefront of his thoughts.

Where was she?

Why wasn't she here?

He'd waited for her.

He'd been patient.

So why wasn't she here?

Had something happened to her?

Kept her from him?

Who would hold her against her will?

Who had the ability?

Sharp metallic thunks reached his ears, making him turn around. One black-haired female in a dark-toned red, silver, and blue armored outfit he vaguely recalled seeing before. "He's back," she whispered in a tone he couldn't identify. He heard her clearly despite the volume she used and the distance between them. There was an older boy in a red jumpsuit. A younger man barely identifiable beneath such metal covering his body. And an older male, non-human, carrying a five-pointed trident.

As they made no hostile moves toward him, he simply stared back at them. However, he'd automatically angled his body to present them with the smallest possible target. Other than the woman, he didn't recognize them. Had no reason to trust them.

Why was the boy smiling at him?

He switched through newly-remembered modes of sight. Focusing on the trident-carrying oldest male, he filtered through seeing bones, muscles, electrical impulses.

Where was she?

Why wasn't she here?

He'd waited.

So long.

So very long.

"He's not alright." The oldest male stated, glancing to the side briefly before focusing on the possible threat. Smart.

He shifted his gaze along the line of four, rotating through visual modes. X-ray. Skeletons. Most normal, but the one on the end had metal bones. How odd.

Infrared. And some sort of radioactive central power source.

"He's scanning us," the metal-skeleton said in an odd reverberating tonality. It was either a good guess, or it had some way to detect his visual keys.

Was she _unable_ to come to him?

Who had the _ability_ to contain her?

"Arthur, you need to relax. You're adrenaline's spiking."

"Because he's not alright."

"Should we bow?" the boy asked. Of the four, the boy was the most innocent. He could hear it in those few words. "Or, or show our bellies?"

Who'd want to hold her?

Who'd know her significance to him?

He took a single step forward, almost a challenge. Wondering what they'd do. The one with the metal skeleton began to twitch in sharp jerks as his power core began to react to the threat he posed just by standing. Smart machine.

"Just think happy thoughts, Victor!" the boy again. Yes, innocent. Not a threat.

The other three however…

Were they keeping her from him?

He tilted his body out of the way as the machine finally won its battle over the human mind and fired a plasma bolt. He turned to watch the weaponfire and saw as the stone tablet behind him shattered. Slowly, he looked back at the group.

His mind, for the first time since the explosion of sound and light after the endless nothingness, was quiet. It was a menacing silence.

 _She_ would have called it 'cold rage'.

"Kal-El, no!" the black-haired beauty yelled.

However, his rage wasn't cold. It was an intense flame that he aimed and released; enough energy to incinerate flesh to ash. The machine blocked it; managed to angle a rapidly-generated shield and allow the turning force to push the beam away. He couldn't stop his plasma vision before a vehicle was cut in half lengthwise.

"He's confused. He doesn't know who he is."

He knew who he was.

Didn't he?

Or was it that he wasn't _him_ without _her_?

"Pet Sematary," the boy was afraid, eyes wide behind the half-mask.

Yet, they were here and she wasn't.

He picked up a large boulder and threw it at the woman. She wasn't _her_! How dare this dark-haired woman be here and _she_ wasn't?!

The woman almost casually deflected the projectile with a sword she drew with practiced ease. "Arthur, we need to restrain him."

Oh, so they thought to hold him now? There was only one who could accomplish such a fete, and she wasn't here.

Where was she?

He'd waited.

He lost several moments as his heart screamed a protest at this injustice. "Kal-El," the woman's voice caught his attention again, "the Last Son of Krypton." His brow furrowed in small confusion. Krypton? Kal-El? "Remember who you are." Such calm tones as she spoke.

Just like _she_ spoke sometimes.

Who was he without _her_?

How dare they try to keep her from him!

"Tell me who y—" He grabbed the glowing rope and yanked. The dark-haired woman cried out as she was pulled directly into his grasp. He didn't grab her flesh—a piece of his mind yelled in protest at the idea of physically harming any female—but still held her armor in such a way as to pull her bodily off her feet.

He wasn't sure what he would've done next, but wasn't bothered by decisions as the others began to attack. He caught the trident with his other hand. Then the metal skeleton grabbed his biceps, trying to break his hold on the first two.

The boy took that millisecond to move faster than a human should've been able. White lightning streaked over his form as he tried to maneuver around, get behind him. To do what, he did not know, but he would not give the child a chance either. He knew he lost moments of awareness as he defended himself.

"Clark!"

He turned, attracted by the sound of a new player, then was momentarily frozen. "I know you," he whispered. Blasphemy. Sacrilege. The first sounds he'd made in so very long…and they hadn't been said to her.

This man entirely clad in black was an enemy. A powerful enemy. This one had hurt him. He took steps forward.

A clang as the woman landed from above in front of him. Her voice was determined, but also sad. Resigned. "Please. Don't make me do this."

A piece of his returning mind told him that this woman would never hurt an innocent. She defended the weak. Yet she was standing between him and his enemy. A man powerful enough to keep _her_ from him. A man who not only had the ability to do so, but hated him enough to hurt _her_.

 _She_ wasn't here.

It must be because his enemy held her.

He charged forward. She raised her forearms to block his blow, but seemed surprised when he wrenched them apart and butted his head against her own. She gave a small cry of pain, took a half-second to recover, then hit him back in the same manner even harder. He scowled at her and drove her into the ground hard enough to make her grunt again. She stayed in the resulting crater.

With her out of his way, he stepped and hit his enemy with such force to dent the side of the vehicle that was hit. "Alfred, I need the big gun." He stopped the words as he grabbed his enemy around the chin and squeezed.

He fought against the pulling of gravity and they both rose into the air, his enemy dangling from his hand. "You did this," he hissed.

"I had to." Harsh words. Harsh timbre.

He was back to cold rage. "You won't let me live." His enemy had created a weapon with the singular purpose of ending his life. All because this black-clad human thought he was owed something. Revenge? Apparently, his death hadn't been vengeance enough. "You won't let me die."

"The world needs you."

 _She_ lived in this world. Was she in danger?

At the very least, this enemy posed a threat to him…and to her. "But does it need you?" he growled. He pulled his enemy closer and repeated words he remembered. "Tell me… Do you bleed?" The brown eyes looking at him held pain, but not fear. He wanted his enemy to feel fear. Wanted him to know what he'd felt at those same words.

"Clark?" A voice. Female. Not the dark-haired armor-clad one though.

He turned to look as a woman hurried toward him. Golden-red hair shifted in waves down past her shoulders. Blue eyes stared at him in fear and hope. "Clark." Her breath came in deep gulps. "Please."

His brows furrowed in confusion. The hair was the wrong shade. The eyes held no green. Her voice a third too high. Who was she?

Why was she here, and yet _she_ wasn't?

He'd waited.

She must have seen his expression for worry entered her voice. "Clark?"

His enemy must have _her_.

Kept her from him!

His brows released as he refocused on the man he held. He squeezed his fingers a degree more. He wanted to see fear in those eyes before they greeted oblivion.

" _Idiot?_ "

His whole body jerked, every piece of his being turning to face the new female in a nanosecond. The tone was familiar. A question. A call. A name. He knew that voice! The timbre. The cadence. Behind that one word, such emotion.

There were tears on her cheeks as she looked up at him. "Well? Are you coming down?" her voice broke several times.

Memories collided with reality and his fingers opened to unceremoniously drop the black-clad human. Now that _she_ was here, the male wasn't important. He dropped himself to the grass directly in front of her.

Her smaller hand shook slightly as it came up to cup his cheek, as if afraid he'd disappear. He closed his eyes as he once again felt her touch. Smelled her skin.

He had gone from oblivion to sound and light…but now he had COLOR… She was the only one who gave his life color. Meaning. "Hope," he whispered.

She choked on a sob, the tears having never stopped falling. Nodded. "Idiot." So much emotion in that one word. An insult long since become an endearment.

"Hope," he whispered again. Pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Secure. Safe. "My Hope."

She held him back so very tightly. "My idiot." She took a deep breath through her nose, breathing in his unique scent. Trying to convince herself he was really here. "Take us home, Idiot." She softly ordered, as close to a plea as she would ever get. "Take me to bed."

He gave a short soft laugh, leaning his cheek against her hair. Felt the strands caress his skin. He gently lifted them into the air. "As my queen commands." He turned his head just so to brush his lips against hers. He groaned. The taste of her exploded across his tongue.

Exploded his memory…

* * *

 _First Superman fanfic of any type. Please let me know what you think: what you liked, didn't like (constructive criticism please), if I should keep going, etc._


	2. Meetings

**First Meetings – The Daily Planet**

"…show her what it means. Blue. Blue! Fucking hell in a handbasket how can you be so blind you can't tell what fucking blue is? Damned idiots…" the voice kept going on like this, using profanity that would make his mother wash his mouth out with soap. It was an obviously feminine voice, even while it used harsh words too low to be heard by a normal human.

Clark followed the cussing to the small group which included his desk. "Hello?" he asked politely. The feet he had finally tracked down stopped their small movements meant to help leverage whoever was doing whatever underneath Lois Lane's desk. "Ummm…do you need help down there?" he called in the same tone, carefully setting down his briefcase.

The feet – blue jean covered legs with well-used black sneakers – resumed their shuffling movements to help the woman angle her upper body, which had yet to move out from under the other reporter's desk. "No. Thank you." Her voice was louder in her reply. Polite, but only slightly less harsh than her cursing. "I'm just trying to fix Mrs Lane's printer issue."

"Oh." Clark shifted his glasses higher on his nose as he continued to gaze down at the pair of feet. "Yeah, she's been complaining about it for the last week or so. I remember. I bet she'll really appreciate your help."

"Wouldn't need fixing if the damnedable woman did what any fucking tech told her the first damned time she asked," back to a barely audible mutter that Clark pretended not to hear. Louder she said, "Uh huh. That's the plan."

"Hey Kent!" Lois came smiling over. Her tone filled with humor when she spotted where his attention was directed. "I see you've met the new IT tech."

Clark nodded. "Indeed, I have. Though we've yet to be introduced, she has nice shoes."

Lois snorted. "You wouldn't know a nice pair of shoes if they bit you, farm boy. That's Faith Ridwell."

"Not even close you moron," the mutter from under the desk was again too soft for human ears. "I may wear three year old shoes, but they're comfortable, don't make noise when I walk, aren't annoying, and I can run in them. None of which you can say, you harridan. Shit on a shingle! How can you have three cables going absolutely fucking nowhere and another two that aren't even supposed to be here?!"

"How much longer will it be, Faith?" Lois called down. "I've got a deadline today."

Mutters, "Jesus H. Christ, she has no idea the hell that is down here. I only got here ten minutes ago! Who does she think I am, Saint Hope of the Impossible?" Louder she answered Lois, "I suggest you either borrow someone else's computer, or go find a pen."

"Pin? I don't have a pin code for anything, let alone a computer. Unless you mean the front security door? Are there any available computers not in use?" Lois was obviously confused.

"P-E-N. Noun. A writing implement used to apply ink to a surface, usually paper. You could also use a pencil, though statistically pens are easier to find."

Lois' face flamed and her mouth tightened in anger. She didn't speak for a full minute before she turned to him. "Clark?"

"Yeah," he answered the unasked question and handed her a few blank pages of copy paper from the instigating printer's drawer, as well as the nearest black pen.

"I'll be in the break room when it's ready," she gritted, stalking off.

"Uh huh, keep dreaming Lady McFuckUp." A sigh. "God, where the hell does _this one_ go? Seriously, who did this install? I'm gonna make them watch Barney & Friends…" A pause. "Did no one fucking label _anything_?!" All of which was said under the woman's breath.

"Are you sure I can't help?" Clark asked, kneeling down to get a better angle to see who was speaking. Now that Lois was off with no chance of returning anytime soon, he didn't feel as self-conscious in his observation.

"Not unless you can find me the original plans for this…mess," she said the last word as if it were an expletive.

He nodded his understanding and suggested instead, "Sorry, but I can keep you company while you work."

"Don't you have your own deadline, Mr Kent?"

His eyebrows rose at her knowing his name, then remembered that Lois had said it earlier. Earlier by several minutes in fact. This woman could multitask well and retain information. Such was unusual enough by human standards to be notable. "I'm actually early for once. It's no trouble."

"Fine. Suit yourself. Here, hold this." A hand came out clutching a bundle of wires, both thick and thin, with at least three different ends he could see.

Obediently, Clark grabbed the wires. "So, are you going to introduce yourself?"

A head half appeared, looking at him sideways. Her coloring was remarkably similar to Lois Lane's, but a shade or two off. Her eyes were more hazel and her hair darker. She gazed at him for a second or two, blinking with incredulousness, before disappearing back behind and under again. Her hands had never left whatever they were holding out of his line of sight. "Hope."

"How long have you worked at the Daily Planet, Hope?" he prompted after she didn't continue.

"What time is it?"

He looked at his watch. "9:48am."

"Forty-eight minutes."

He blinked back at her. "Pardon?"

"I've worked here for forty-eight minutes. Officially, at least." Her body stretched as she reached for something. " _There_ you are you stubborn, vindictive cretin! I've got you now!" Her hand thrust a wire at him again, "Hold this and don't lose it in the ones I already gave you."

"Yes ma'am." He smirked at her, amused at her in spite of the language. "I'm surprised you're doing anything other than paperwork on your first day."

"Well," she grunted as she stretched into a tight place, reaching for something again out of her reach above her head based on what her feet were doing to help get her in the required position, "Mr. White wanted his star reporter to have her printer back. I'm currently the only IT person in the building. And HR managed to snag me when I came in at 7."

He blinked. "Why'd you come in so early?"

"I wanted to see how much work I had ahead of me. That and to make sure I knew where the essentials were." Her hand came back out of the desk, this time empty. He handed her the last wire she'd given him to hold. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied automatically. "That was the one you wanted, correct?"

"Yup," she said. "Almost done down here, I think."

"Nice. Lois will be happy."

"I said 'done down here'. After the cables are connected to actual places instead of thin air, I have to make sure everything is installed properly and run test pages, et cetera." She made a small humming sound in the back of her throat. "Gotcha, you little dickens! Now screw you…and… _stay_. That should hopefully be the right connection input…" She began to butt-crawl backward, her hands coming up to feel where the edge of the desk lay in order to avoid hitting it as she rose.

Without the darkness of the shadows, he noticed her hair was lighter, and closer to Lois', than he'd thought at first. Her eyes were more green than he'd seen too. He smiled at her and held out a hand. "Clark Kent."

"Hope Kramer." She dropped his hand just as quickly as she'd grabbed it; practically falling into the available rolling chair to begin messing with Lois' computer.

"Out of curiosity, do you always swear so much?"

She glanced at him, surprised. "You heard that? Sorry." She refocused on the screen, her right hand on the mouse and left on the keyboard. "I try to make sure it's a low enough volume so no one hears me. It's a way to vent frustration. Otherwise, I tend to start doing things better left to the imagination."

"Such as?"

"Erasing someone's identity because they put a credit card in their disk drive. Uploading a virus to forever make a computer slower than an eight-and-a-half inch floppy. Cramming peanut butter into their air vent because they wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Printing 72-point font signs labelling everything 'do not attempt to fix yourself' in capital letters. You know, the classics."

He couldn't help himself; he laughed.

She smiled at him as she closed the windows she'd been using and pushed back from the desk. "Mrs. Lane should be able to print now. Please don't attempt to fix it yourselves if it still doesn't work."

He chuckled at the reiteration. "How about turning it off and back on again?"

"Only if you want to push your luck, Mr. Kent." She stood and began to walk away backwards, still smiling at him.

"Clark," he corrected. All she did was nod and turn right-way around. When she finally made it around a corner, he got to his feet to go get Lois.

 **Second Meetings**

Perry White gave a loud exclamation, drawing everyone's attention in the immediate vicinity, right before there was a muted half-explosion and smoke began to billow from his desktop.

Clark was the first to his boss's side, pulling him away from the small flames. A short, sharp exhale of superhuman force denied it oxygen long enough to go out. There was already a smell of smoke in the air, along with electrical discharge. He was surprised that the smoke alarms hadn't come on, but was grateful. He didn't want to be drying out the entire floor after the sprinklers came on for such a small fire. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Yes, I'm fine Kent. Thank you." The man growled, understandably irritable. He picked up the phone, dialed an extension from memory, and yelled, "Kramer, get up here!"

"Wha-?" Clark heard briefly through the phone before Perry hung up.

"Are you sure you're alright Mr. White?"

"I'm fine! But this damned thing just lost all of tomorrow's layout!"

"Didn't you save?" Hope asked as she entered the office at almost a run. "Or at least have auto-save enabled?" She sniffed and jerked. "What the hell happened?" It had been almost seven months since Clark first met her, but she didn't look any different. Same jeans and sneakers. Hair in the same style as before: pulled back in a tight French braid.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" He screamed at her. "It's your job to keep these things in top shape, damn it! Now I've lost hours of work due to your negligence!"

Hope's mouth tightened in anger as she froze, looking at her boss with narrowed eyes. If her eyes could glare daggers, Perry White would've been cut to ribbons. "Sir," she said through clenched teeth, "did you back up to the cloud?"

"I don't have time for that!" he retorted.

"Fine. I'll do what I can."

"Huh," he snorted derisively. "You do that, Kramer. Or you're fired!" He marched out.

Clark blinked, shocked by the interchange. "Did something happen between you and Mr. White?" It seemed to be an extreme reaction over something relatively small. Inconvenient, but not a firing offense.

He'd seen her briefly in the seven months she'd worked at _The Planet_ , but it was only the usual required pleasantries since their first meeting. While she intrigued him, he'd been too busy with one thing or another, either as Clark Kent or Superman, to take the time to have another conversation. So, something could've easily happened between the techy and director and Clark not know.

Though gossip being what it was, he should've still heard about it. Unless Hope was better at keeping things to herself than one would think, being a staff member of a prominent paper. Clark already knew that White was good at keeping secrets. As the editor/director of _The Daily Planet_ , it was practically a job requirement.

Hope visibly tried to calm as she took her place in the chair. "I apparently have 'unreasonable demands' regarding updating software and equipment." Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the melted wires. "Good grief, this could've gotten out of hand in a hurry." She looked up at him with an expression he couldn't quite put his finger on, but said nothing. She pulled out a handful of bits of wire from a pocket and a Swiss Army knife from another as she focused back to the pile of mangled plastic.

"You came prepared."

"Well, as much as he likes to yell and blame me, once I figured out he wouldn't upgrade until things literally fell apart, I began to carry around common replacement parts and tools." With quick efficiency, she spliced the new wires where the melted made been. Then she attempted to restart the computer. "Come on, sweetie, you can do it," she crooned.

"No profanity?" he teased.

"Nah. It's not the computer's fault that Mr. White won't listen. It's doing the best it can with what it's got. Just like everyone, I suppose." He blinked at the philosophical segue as her fingers flew over the keys. "Ah ha, there we go." A document came up, presumably the one White had been working on when the meltdown occurred. She immediately saved and transferred the file to the _Planet's_ cloud storage system she herself had originally set up for the company. Clark had heard, and overheard, many thanking the system in the time sense its inception. If anyone knew who'd thought it up or maintained it, he'd bet Mrs. Kramer would have a lot more friends than she currently did. Making firing her an almost protest-worthy offense. However, he doubted that Hope thought in political terms like that.

"There! Now…what made you go nuclear?" she muttered to herself as she began to hunt through coding.

"Can I help?" Clark offered.

"Shut up."

"Right. Sorry."

She blinked, focusing on him with a noticeable effort. Sighed. "Sorry, but finding what caused this will take a lot of concentration. Quiet helps."

He smiled, indicating he wasn't offended. "I understand. I'll let you work." He left, gently closing the office door behind him to block as much sound as it was capable. He doubted she noticed, having already started glaring at the screen yet again.

With an inward smile, he wandered to the coffee machine and decided to drop a juicy piece of gossip or three…

 **Third Meetings**

"MRS. LANE! If you don't stop deliberately trying to bypass my system, I'll make you fix your own issues!" Hope Kramer's voice yelled over even the usual din.

"I need it to research for my story!" Lois shouted back.

"You have no idea what programs are on the dark web, Mrs. Lane. Those hackers won't even bother laughing as they melt it all down!"

"You're being overly dramatic!"

"No, I'm being _smart_ , you _curious_ —"

"Woah!" Clark jumped into the middle of the two so similar appearing females who were facing against one another with postures suggestive of a real bullpen. That or an arena. "Ladies!"

He knew by Hope's tone that she'd been about to cuss Lois to the best of her considerable ability, probably resulting in a loss of employment. Perry liked Lois too much to tolerate such insubordination, no matter how fast and efficient—and liked by most, if in a tertiary fashion, due to his own gossip-dropping comments—Hope had become in the year since she joined _The Planet_. He also knew Lois well enough that the reporter wasn't going to back down, no matter what anyone said to the contrary.

The rest of the bullpen had stopped to watch the quickly escalating fight between two beautiful women. Clark heard one group on the far side of the room taking bets. Several were muttering about popcorn.

Hope continued to glare at Lois before saying in tightly controlled tones, "Will you at least let me isolate your computer from the network so that _when_ you do get a Lorainna Bobbitt virus it won't kill the entire building?"

"That sounds reasonable. Lois?" Clark said.

"Fine! Take her side!" the woman stalked off.

"I'm not taking—" he sighed, cutting himself off as she never slowed. "That went well."

Hope snorted derisively. "That woman is a—" it was her turn to cut herself off, glaring at the desktop screen as she set about doing whatever it was she intended.

He watched her for several long minutes, listening to the sharp staccato of keys. The rest of the room had groaned at the end of their entertainment and moved back to doing their jobs. So when he asked the question, he was reasonably sure only she could hear him or was even paying attention to their small corner of the room anymore. "Why don't you like Lois?"

Hope shot him a quick look. "She's an excellent reporter." As if that explained everything.

"Then why—"

She continued, "She's a terrible friend. Everything is always about her."

"That's not true."

"She's curious."

"That's not a bad thing."

"For a reporter. A friend should be able to not just keep secrets, but also let you keep some to yourself. Not push you and keep pushing until you tell her everything. There's no reason for her to know _everything_ about a person just because she thinks she has the right."

Clark grimaced, conceding the point. He waited. "What else?"

Hope glanced at him. "That's not enough? Ego-centric. Curious to a fault. She's also an adrenaline junkie, searching for that next big high of danger. Someday it's going to get her killed." She sighed, suddenly drained of her anger. "Lois Lane is an absolutely brilliant reporter. She's married to her work. Her entire world is the news. Which means she's leading on that poor bastard, and I doubt he has a clue."

Clark blinked at her. "Which poor bastard?" Lois had many admirers, but most had figured out that she wasn't interested and had gone searching elsewhere for romance. The only one left was…

"Superman," Hope said as if hearing his thoughts. He froze in shock. The whole world was aware of Lois Lane's relationship with Superman, due to Zod's interference, but most hadn't thought there was more than a passing acquaintance once the first article came out saying such.

She sighed again as if answering a question. "I know. Sometimes I'm not sure if she even realizes what she's doing to the guy."

"What… What do you mean?" the words almost came on their own without his thought or approval.

"Think about it. When do you see Superman with Lois?" They both knew the answer: when he was rescuing her.

"That doesn't mean that's all they do together." Clark countered.

"True, but when does Lois talk about Superman? It isn't ever anything mundane. That they hung out one night watching movies or went to Paris to watch fireworks or something similar. No, it's always what he did for her; helped her with her next story, or agreed to another interview, or rescued her from whatever situation she'd gotten herself in to last."

Clark's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"Lois Lane doesn't dream about growing old and settling down. I doubt she thinks that far into her future. She's the best at what she does because it's her passion. Which also means she'll likely die young while doing what she loves. Which is great for her, but terrible for her family and friends. I pity the man who marries her, because it'll probably take him years before he realizes the truth, if he ever does."

"Which is?" his voice was a bare whisper.

"That he'll always be second-best. He'll never be her first priority," Hope glanced at him and grimaced. "I know that I'm a minority in my opinion about the woman. Feel free to ignore me."

Clark had nothing more to say. _Couldn't_ say more. Instead, he settled at his desk and spent the rest of the day staring at his computer screen. Thinking about her words. Words which rang too close to the truth for comfort.

And as much as he wished to deny them, no matter how much he wracked his eidetic memory through all their encounters could he recall a single instance to contradict those words.

* * *

 _First Superman (or any DC really) fanfic. Please let me know what you think: what you liked, disliked (constructive criticism, please), if should be continued, etc._


	3. Introducing Hope

**Introducing Hope**

Hope Kramer was under no illusions about how she was perceived by others. She thought they were idiots and they thought she was an asshole. All in all, Hope thought it worked out quite nicely as both groups held a mutual nonverbal agreement to leave each other alone.

It was part of why she made a living via a field where very little interaction with others was required. She'd done it deliberately. When she was forced into contact with the rest of humanity, Hope tended to swear. A lot. (To her credit, she did try to do it under her breath so none could hear. Though sometimes she was more successful than others.) It wasn't good for her health (either mental or physical).

Due to a glowing review from a former employer which spelled out what excellent service Hope could perform, as long as she was left alone, (The recommendation had actually used much more flowery language expounding on how all she'd been given was an overall goal and Hope had done the rest with very little supervision required. It amounted to the same thing.) she'd been able to work up to her current employment for _The Daily Planet_ at double her previous salary.

She just hadn't realized that she would be the I.T. specialist for the whole damn building!

Which brought her to her first day at her new job, where right after Human Resources had finished filing paperwork, Hope had been directed to the editor-in-chief. It had gone something like this:

" _You're the new tech?"_

" _Yes sir. I'm Hope Kramer."_

" _My name is Perry White. All your paperwork has been filled out?"_

" _Yes sir. I just finished."_

" _Good. Your first assignment is to fix Lois Lane's printer."_

It started out innocently enough. She was yelling (quietly) at cords that went to nowhere and generally having an actually nice conversation with one of her new coworkers. Which in and of itself was an amazing occasion to call home about! He actually seemed to sincerely want to help and gave non-moronic comments (at least so far) when she peeked her head out from under Ms. Lane's desk to introduce herself.

He sat in the rolling chair that belonged to the cubicle next to Ms. Lane's. His hair was black in a professional-casual style that covered the tops of his ears. He wore thick black-rimmed glasses, in a rounded-square that were large enough to touch his cheeks and eyebrows. They shaded his eyes so well that it took her several heartbeats to realize his eyes were blue. But it wasn't his hair or glasses or eyes that made her pause.

It was his smile. That was a smile to weaken a girl's knees! Dimples on both sides, a small cleft chin, but it was _real_. It reached his eyes, crinkling the skin around them.

Hoping to hide exactly how flustered that smile made her, she pushed back under the desk before she remembered that he'd asked her name. She tried desperately to refocus upon the task at hand, devoting most of her brainpower to finding where cords went and led. (While a piece of her mind was expounding on how might his lips taste.) The rest of her decided to answer her coworker as she would her brother. As if he had a brain and could be useful if directly properly. (If she saw him as her brother, that would mean he wasn't kissable. Shouldn't kiss your coworkers!)

However, waaay too soon for her thought processes, she'd theoretically fixed the cords and needed to get back out from under the desk. Facing the man that she absolutely wasn't going to kiss. She wasn't. Nope. Nada.

"Clark Kent," he introduced with that smile.

She grabbed his hand automatically to shake as per etiquette, and felt an electric spark. "Hope Kramer." She was quite proud of herself that her voice didn't waver or change. She also dropped his hand like a hot wire as soon as was deemed acceptable. That smile could be a secret weapon!

"Out of curiosity, do you always swear so much?" he asked, amused.

Her eyes flicked to him in abject surprise. It was her first day. She'd made _sure_ that her comments wouldn't be heard. Otherwise her first day would also coincide with her last. Or…she thought she had. "You heard that? Sorry." No blushing. That was cliché. "I try to make sure it's a low enough volume so no one hears me. It's a way to vent frustration. Otherwise, I tend to start doing things better left to the imagination." Had her grammar diminished? Seriously? All she needed was a nice smile and her elocution went out the window? That was just sad.

"Such as?"

"Erasing someone's identity because they put a credit card in their disk drive. Uploading a virus to forever make a computer slower than an eight-and-a-half inch floppy. Cramming peanut butter into their air vent because they wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Printing 72-point font signs labelling everything 'do not attempt to fix yourself' in capital letters. You know, the classics."

He couldn't help himself; he laughed.

 _Good God in Heaven! That laugh should be illegal!_ It was genuine. That was what she liked so much about it. She dealt with idiots and fakes so much that his lack of either was refreshing. She smiled back at him, trying not to blush or stammer or any other horrible clichés. "Mrs. Lane should be able to print now. Please don't attempt to fix it yourselves if it still doesn't work."

He chuckled lightly, not offended at her reminder. Instead, he made a joke. "How about turning it off and back on again?"

"Only if you want to push your luck, Mr. Kent." She had to leave quickly or she would make a fool out of herself, she knew it!

"Clark," he corrected. All she did was nod and turn right-way around. When she finally made it around a corner, she had to stop at a near wall and get her breath. That grin and accompanying laughter still echoing behind her eyes.

Hope made a resolve to stay away from one Clark Kent as much as possible. Otherwise, she might get a citation submitted to Human Resources for sexual harassment…

 **One Month Later**

Hope frowned at the picture of Superman in the _Daily Planet_ headline. It was a three-quarter full-body shot. The angle wide enough to get his cape flowing in the breeze, his levitation obvious in the angle of his feet.

Something about it bothered her…but she couldn't put her finger on why.

Before she could do much more than mentally note the occurrence and start to attempt to pinpoint the source, her phone rang. "I.T." she answered.

" _Kramer!"_ the voice of Perry White came over the line, _"Lane's printer is out again!_ "

Hope groaned low in her throat. "Yes sir, I'll be right up." Would that woman _ever_ listen to her on what NOT to do?

 **The Next Month**

Hope stared at the photograph. It was a byline, barely more than a blurb really. Superman was smiling at the camera. It wasn't a genuine smile. She didn't blame him. Apparently, the photographer had pulled a paparazzi while the guy was working with homeless kids.

 **Six Weeks After That**

This one was a three-quarter head-shot. Superman was looking over the last of the cleaned up remains of his fight with General Zod. It was finally all done, which was what the article had centered on (that and how Superman had helped to clean up the mess he'd help create).

The photographer had managed to wait and got a glimpse of a real smile on the alien's face. She could see the crinkles at the corner of his eye as he surveyed the finished rebuilds.

She frowned at the photograph. Something about it…

Looking back at the other photographs of Superman she'd noted as being odd, she noticed they were all by the same guy. Jimmy Olsen. Maybe she should talk to him…

Then she looked closer, realized what she was seeing, and began to curse. "Bloody, stupid, fucking hell! You _moron!_ " Taking quick action, Hope began to type a strongly worded email to a distinct individual.

 _To: CKent_

 _From: Resinded You__

 _Heading: NSFW – Did You Think No One Would Notice?!_

 _Dear Idiot,_

 _Seriously, did you think no one would notice?! That has got to be the most IDIOTIC disguise I've ever seen! How could you think that parting your hair differently and wearing glasses would be enough to throw people off?!_

 _Since Superman is obviously the more showy of your two identities, Clark Kent is easier to manipulate with the least amount of suspicion. Thus, consider the following to better your disguise:_

 _I) Clothes_

 _Wear baggier clothes. Clothes that do NOT highlight your obvious muscles, which are clearly defined in the Superman costume. I'd suggest at least two sizes too large for your frame. But fitted to your arm length and ankles so as not to get too much notice. Again, goal is to fade into the background and differentiate your frame from Superman's._

 _Also, get pads for your shirts to offset how wide your shoulders really are. You can show off Clark as wider shoulders_

 _You also want to pick colors that are dingy, dirty, and just plain drab. Browns, tans, grays. Black goes well with your hair, so stay away from that. The intent being to NOT draw attention. Stay away from strong colors, even if they do compliment your eyes. That's not the point. Compliment your eyes when you're on a date, not when at work around NOSY_ _REPORTERS,_ _you_ _ **IDIOT**_ _ **!**_

 _II) Glasses_

 _Get better disguise glasses. The ones you've got are nice for your bone structure. They highlight your eyes well. You need bulky frames that shade your eyes, as they are a very distinguishing feature. Save the glasses you've currently got for date night, not around NOSY_ _REPORTERS,_ _you_ _ **IDIOT**_ _ **!**_

 _III) Tattoos_

 _One thought I had was for a temp tattoo on an inside wrist or 'hidden' at the neckline that Clark could wear. Easily removed for fast transition, if need be, but since no one would think of it being so fast removed, it'd help. Being the Fastest Man Alive, I think that would be easy for you, but every little bit helps. That, and as long as the light doesn't hit it just right, most people take temp tattoos as real ones, if seen from a distance. Superman, obviously, can't wear one, but Kent could._

 _Conclusion:_

 _Most people only see what they expect to see. However, you are surrounded by NOSY_ _REPORTERS,_ _you_ _ **IDIOT**_ _ **!**_ _Including that you WORK WITH ONE_ _ **DAILY!**_ _The nosiest, actually. It won't be long that she figures it out, if she hasn't already. She's good at her job._

 _If you want to remain as anonymous as possible, then please consider my suggestions._

 _Sincerely Concerned for Your Ability to Reason,_

 _Hoping You Aren't an Idiot and It's Only Temporary Insanity_

* * *

Please be kind. I know it's not perfect. However, this chapter is owed to my reviewers. So more reviews is more love and makes me write faster.


	4. Emails

**Hopeful Idiot**

 **Emails**

Clark blinked at the email sitting innocently in his work inbox. He read the subject line twice, wondering, before giving up and turning to his desk partner, "Lois, what does N.S.F.W. mean?"

She looked over at him, needing a couple seconds to switch mental gears. Then she grinned broadly. "Not Safe For Work. You got a girlfriend?" Her voice was friendly with a touch of suggestive. It still made the innocent farm boy flush. She eagerly hoped from her chair and rounded to peer over his shoulder at his computer screen. "Huh. 'Did you think no one would notice'? Odd for a subject line. Do you recognize the sender?" Her reporter senses were tingling, eyes narrowing in focus.

"No, but I don't think 'Rescinded at You Moron dot e.d.u.' is a real email address."

"You never know," she shrugged. "It could be a new anonymous source, trying to get your attention." Anonymous sources were common to two types of people: police and reporters. Both required them to do their job effectively. "Click it. Let's see what it says."

Obediently, Clark tried. Instead of the expected email, a popup box appeared. Highlighted in large bold red letters were the words

TARGET EMAIL CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE

ONLY AVAILABLE AT SECURED I.P. ADDRESS

"Huh," Lois tilted her head as she contemplated the popup. "Well, that's a new one." She leaned so that she could peer into his eyes without shifting her position, meaning her eyes were less than six inches from his own. "If this is a new A.S., he's tech-savvy."

Clark was understandably flustered at his partner's nearness. "Yeah!" he practically squeaked, scooting his chair backward hastily. Lois was quite beautiful, and he was a male with a healthy sex drive. (The fact he wasn't human was beside the point, as he had grown up around humans and adopted the human standard of beauty as his own. That, and he had no idea what the Kryptonian standard of beauty or desirability could be.)

She flashed a smirk at his discomfort, as if it were good fun, then went back to her desk. "You can try on your home computer. If that doesn't work, I'd call that… _woman_ ," she hissed the word as if it were a curse, "down in I.T."

"Good idea, Lois. I'll do that," he quickly assured her. An angry Lois wasn't pleasant to be around and the workday had just started.

Lois' grin at his obvious unease at her nearness made him think of 'that woman's comment. _"She's a terrible friend. Everything is always about her."_ That smirk suggested she enjoyed embarrassing him… Was it malicious?

While he understood that Lois knew the appropriate social rules and boundaries, she approached their use as a sniper would a bullet: a tool to eliminate a target. Though she usually pretended to care better during work hours, or with friends, her general personality relaxed around Clark, thus showing how little social constructs bothered her.

Clark sighed, pushing his musings to the side. He had work to do right now.

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

Later that day, Clark pulled up his email on his personal home computer and clicked on the offending email. He began to read, "Dear Idiot…" He blinked, startled. He kept reading. "Seriously, did you think no one would notice." He muttered the sentences without retaining the emphasis of the exclamation marks. He still understood. "That has got to be the most idiotic disguise I've ever seen. How could you think that parting your hair differently and wearing glasses would be enough to throw people off?"

He scrolled down and surged forward in his seat as his mind fully registered the picture that was attached below the paragraph. It was two images, one of Superman and the other Clark Kent. Both were taken at the same 3-quarter angle, and several areas had been circled and connected to each picture. Showing the perfect correlation. "Good God," he breathed. He thought his mother would forgive his blasphemy in this instance.

He scrolled down again, dread in the pit of his stomach. However, instead of threats of money or blackmail or anything else that his mind conjured in the two seconds it took to turn the wheel, there were suggestions on how to make his disguise better. Well, his Clark Kent disguise better. Even going so far as to explain the logic behind each suggestion.

He blinked again as the salutation tied in with the signature section.

As long as he ignored the foul language, expletives, and various grammatical email yelling, it was actually very helpful. Thoughtful. Kind, even. It seemed rather genuine, caring whether he continued his work as Superman.

So, after a brief internal debate, he began to compose a reply.

 _Dear Hope,_

 _Thank you for sending me your thoughtful suggestions. While a tattoo would be impractical at this stage, as Clark must change into Superman at inhuman speeds, I greatly appreciate your other ideas. Do you have any more?_

 _I would also like to ask about any suggestions you may have regarding my partner. So far, she seems rather oblivious to what you say is obvious. Are you sure that the connection you have made is as clear as you think? What are the chances of others making this same correlation? I recognize the pictures you used for your demonstration. Each was printed in different editions, months apart. Did you save each edition of The Daily Planet for reference? Or perhaps you noticed the similarities by happenstance?_

 _I am not saying you do not have a point, but the method by which you acquired this information could be significant._

 _Also, how secure is this reply method? Perhaps we should meet in person to discuss this incredibly sensitive information._

 _Sincerely,_

 _The Idiot_

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

Hope blinked at the email waiting for her the morning after she sent the rather scathing diatribe on Superman/Clark's choices of disguise. She did have a brief pause of panic at his salutation, but then remembered how she had signed her own. He didn't know who she was, he was just using a one-word condensed form.

"Well, he got the signature right," she muttered as she began again.

 _(I am not calling you 'dear' anything.)_

 _Idiot,_

 _You're a moron. You actually REPLIED without knowing if it was a secure email? Are you out of your mind? Seriously, I'd like to know if the supposed "american hero" is bat-shit insane. I think that's a significant detail. (Of course, one could make the argument that anyone who goes into burning buildings without regard to his own life is, in fact, crazy.)_

 _Yes, this email is secure. If anyone cracked this code, then a lovely little virus would be left in their system, which would increase the threshold for fan temperature. Resulting in a 'spontaneous' meltdown from overheating. Then just look for whatever agency bought a new supercomputer (for it would TAKE a supercomputer to crack my firewall. No, I'm not being arrogant.)_

 _As for the pictures. Do you really want to take the chance that I only noticed via coincidence? Really? How dumb are you? You went to all the trouble to hide Clark Kent, so obviously that means you care about having a social life to some degree. Who would want to be Superman all the time?_

 _Personally, if you truly want my REAL advice, I'd tell you to scrap Kent entirely and start from scratch with a new identity. One with a wig, moles, birthmarks, and all sorts of other things that would make it highly unlikely to connect the two. And get a different job. Reporters are NOSEY, by profession and passion._

 _However, I highly doubt you'll be willing to go that far with hiding your human identity. So, my previous emailed comments stand. As for the tattoo being impractical…oh well. At least you were smart enough to consider it, then discard it for logical reasons. Congrats you get ONE brainy point. To earn more, please use that thing between your ears more often._

 _Oh, and I don't appreciate you denigrating my own intelligence. It's YOUR idiocy on trial here, not mine!_

 _Sincerely Are You Going To Continue Being A Moron,_

 _Hoping Not_

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 _Dear Hoping,_

 _How did I denigrate your intelligence?_

 _Idiot_

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 _Idiot,_

 _You suggested that I would meet you in person, you moron. You are LITERALLY faster than a speeding bullet and you're called the Man of Steel (how many pairs of pants did you go through during puberty? ;-P ). Why would I get within touching distance of you? In fact, why would I tell you what STATE I live in?_

 _Hope_

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 _Dear Hope,_

 _Ahhh, I understand your reasoning now. Sorry. It wasn't my intention. I truly was worried about the safety of the emails. In person, I could be better assured of our correspondence. My hearing is extremely sensitive. I am able to hear any heartbeat within a mile, well beyond the range of any parabolic microphone._

 _And you live in Metropolis. Why else would you be so interested in me? Or have access to Daily Planet photos so readily. Metropolis is the city in which I do the most "american hero" work. Q.E.D._

 _My mother would like you to know that I went through 6 pairs of pants during puberty. She is very practical and instead of buying new jeans every week, she got extremely good at repairing crotch seams at night while I was sleeping. (She claims that she bought 56 sewing machine needles, but that it was still cheaper than buying new jeans.) She also appreciates your ability to make me blush and would like me to convey to you how much she welcomes any suggestions you have. Apparently, you're good for me…though she was a bit vague on expanding the reasons she thinks so. You are to meet her in person as soon as you are comfortable with the idea._

 _I'd like to thank you as well. I haven't seen my mother laugh so hard in years._

 _Sincerely,_

 _The Idiot_

Hope blinked at the email. "He…told his mother about me?" And she not only approved of her, but wanted to meet her? She blinked again. "What… What does this mean?" If he was any normal boy/man, she'd think it was a precursor to dating. Or more like the middle-cursor to dating. But…he wasn't human. And wasn't he the only non-human on Earth? Was he raised on Earth by human parents? Does that mean he wanted to DATE her?

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

Clark was getting nervous. It had been almost one week since he'd heard from Hope, when they usually replied the very next day. He was getting worried. Did someone find her? (His mother was certain that they were female. She said the syntax was purely feminine in its insults, and that only a girl could be so complementary while yelling.) Was she injured? Did she get into an accident? Was she on vacation? Was she nervous?

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 _Hope,_

 _Are you alright? It's been three weeks._

 _Please, contact me. Just let me know that you're okay. My mind has been rolling with all sorts of possibilities, including car accidents, bank robbery, vacation, and kidnapping._

 _I'm worried._

 _Idiot_

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 **No beta, all mistakes are mine.**

 **Please let me know what you think, but don't be too harsh. I know its not perfect.**

 **Reviews are love!**


	5. Meetings 2

**Hopeful Idiot**

 **Chapter 04: Many Forms of Meetings**

It started at 4:37pm with Mr. White, her boss, yelling at her through the phone. "Kramer! I've got to give a presentation to the Board of Directors tomorrow at 8am and the damned projector in the conference room isn't working. Fix it or it's your job!" Click.

"Yes, sir," Hope sighed into the dial tone. She had a love-hate relationship with Perry White. He was a good boss in that he was fair, all paperwork was submitted correctly and on time, and he stayed out of her way for the most part. However, his manners really needed help. Ironically for the chief editor of a major newspaper, his people skills sucked. Unless he liked you, Hope assumed. After all, he had to have _some_ people skills to stay married for so many years. That, or his wife had the patience of a saint. Or both.

With these thoughts running through her head, Hope headed for the main conference room on the top floor, which had the nicest furniture and fanciest equipment. Since White hadn't specified which conference room, she had to assume. It was a logical assumption, but still an assumption. "You know what they say about assuming…" Hope muttered under her breath.

Most projector problems were relatively easy to solve. Either the operator didn't know what they were doing, or it was a driver issue. After 23 minutes, Hope concluded that it was neither and had begun to curse. Colorfully.

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

Henry Gates, the night security officer of _The Daily Planet_ for the last decade, currently on front-desk duty, asked politely. "You're here much later than usual, Miss Kramer."

Hope nodded wearily. "Mr. White had a projector problem. Took me ages to find the short in the wire, then figured out it was one of those one-in-a-million times the short traveled from the wire to the equipment. Had to replace both. _Then_ spent almost two hours tracking down the right software. Another hour to get everything uploaded and updated. Then my paranoia reared its head. Mr. White didn't specify _which_ conference room had a projector problem, so I went around and double-checked the others, which took me another hour." Her voice showcased her exhaustion. "Do you know how many conference rooms are in this frickin' building?"

Henry winced in sympathy. "Would you like me to call you a cab? You look dead on your feet."

She shook her head, "No. I only live a few blocks away. And if I take a cab, I'll fall asleep."

"Alright, Miss Kramer, but be careful. It's almost 10pm. Lots of nasty people come out at night."

She snorted, "In this town? Who'd dare with Superman flying around."

"Even Superman has to sleep," Henry said wisely.

"True."

His eyes were full of concern. "You sure I can't call you a cab?"

"Nah, I gotta pick up something for dinner anyway."

"Okay, Miss Kramer," Henry said reluctantly, "but keep your eyes peeled."

Hope nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Gates. Stay safe yourself."

"Will do, Miss Kramer."

She waved her final goodbye and was out the door, finally free. "Need to talk to H.R. about overtime. That was murder." She groaned, stretching her shoulders and back as she walked down the street. Part of her acknowledged that it was well past when most were holed up. Even for as large a city as Metropolis, things were starting to settle down for the night. It wasn't the greatest time to be walking alone. However, Metropolis was also the home city of Superman himself, who did regular patrols and reportedly kept his ear out for any cries for help. She also only lived 5 blocks away from her apartment complex; she regularly walked to and from work. It was cheaper and faster than trying to find parking and fighting traffic.

And Hope had a concealed carry license.

There was a reason her purse was just a bit heavier than one might expect. She had sewn a special pocket into the lining where her small .22 could hide. To be extra safe, she kept the bullets in her jacket pocket.

As her mother had explained when Hope was 13, "It's the same principle as carrying a condom, sweetie. It's better to have one and not need it, than need one and not have it." Her father had taught her physical defense. Her mother had taught her weapons, particularly guns. Both had instilled in her how to stay safe.

Which she was currently partially ignoring by being out after dark but Hope reasoned that even as tired as she was, she kept her eyes open watching the shadows and stayed to the well-lit areas. No need to invite trouble. Not to mention that she was hungry and knew how little was in her cupboards.

So, Hope stepped inside the small 24-hour convenience store/gas-station, just wanting to grab a sandwich. Something small that she could eat the rest of the way home, then happily collapse into bed.

"Open the register!" a deep voice jerked Hope out of her musings between tuna and beef.

Hope froze for a split second before ducking low, closing her eyes as she pictured the layout in her mind, locating both herself and the register. Even as she was imagining the approximate location of the robber (near the register, close to the automatic doors) in relation to herself (to the left, behind three aisles), Hope put her hand into her jacket and pulled out three bullets.

"I said, open the register!" He sounded young, full of bluster.

Hope moved carefully, making as little sound as possible, and used her other hand to grab her small .22 revolver. (It had been a present from her mother. The same gun she had used when she was younger. Small, compact, lightweight.) She winced as the bullets made a soft 'clink' noise as she slipped the bullets into the chamber, then closed it with a 'snick'. Double checking that the safety was off, Hope took a deep centering breath, and slowly arranging herself to peer over the aisle.

"Stop cryin', bitch! Or I'll give you somethin' to cry about. Just give me the money!" He was young. All three of them were. (Did she have enough bullets? Better not miss.) Late teens, early twenties. Young enough to still believe they were immortal and consequences didn't apply to them. All were dressed similarly: dark sweaters with the hood pulled down and some sort of cover across their nose, mouth, and cheekbones, so that identification would be nigh impossible. (Holding gun wrong. Sideways. Likely to miss even at current point-blank range.) Still, Hope categorized each approximate height, race, anything she could notice. (Shoulders weird on the one by the door. Female?)

Hope braced herself as steady as she could, aiming carefully, then loudly cleared her throat, "I'd leave her alone if I were you."

All three jerked their heads in her direction, obviously startled. (Inexperienced. Random selection? Desperate?) "You stay outta dis, bitch!"

(Definitely inexperienced. Yet to notice her gun.) "If you leave now, then you will not be pursued. Otherwise," Hope pulled back the cock, making the stereotypical Hollywood noise, which wasn't necessary to arm it, but she was hoping these three were kids. Young, dumb, and full of hormones; easily scared off, "I WILL return fire."

The spokesman's voice shook slightly in the face of a ready defense. "Dat ting ain't real!"

"I assure you; it is very real." She stared down at the one with the gun. "You haven't done anything yet. You haven't harmed anyone. You can still leave."

"You so stupid, lady! We ain't leavin' wit'out da money!"

Hope stopped trying to negotiate with those words. Instead, she sighted down the barrel. (Both eyes open. Don't blink. Even breaths. Aim for largest target. Squeeze half-pressure. Should b—

Hope gave a startled shout as arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind, one around her chest and upper arms, the other coming around her neck. He—for someone so large could only be a he—didn't bother with words as he jerked his body up then down sharply, crashing her arms down hard on the sharp edge of the aisle shelf she'd been using as a brace. She cried out in pain. He did it again. Again. Again. She couldn't retain her grip and the gun dropped behind food stuffs, out of sight.

Her mind was in turmoil, but she managed to hang on to a single thought: defend. (He's behind me. Grabbing from behind. Instep!) Her foot shot up then straight back, scrapping down her attacker's leg from knee to foot with all her strength. He gave a pained grunt, his arm loosening. (Solar plexus.) Her elbow surged forward, then back straight into his stomach. He let her go. (Nose.) She spun and punched, imaging her fist going through his head. He stumbled backward as blood began to pour down his chin. (Groin!) Her foot came up in a perfect ballerina-esque slant, pointing her toes for maximum surface area to connect with his balls. He finally went down, curling around his midsection.

Hope sidestepped and spun, trying to keep all the robbers in her line of sight. (Where's the gun? Where's the gun? Where's my damned gun?!) Despite her eyes flicking almost desperately around the room, she couldn't see the tell-tale black grip. And the other three (four total - shit!) were already heading straight for her. "You fuckin' bitch!" (can't take four!) Then she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Superman! A little help would be nice!"

"Fuckin' bitch! Don't call that fucker!" The leader aimed his gun at her, his eyes were ice cold. (badly underestimated them - i'm so fucked) "You gonna pay for that." Yes, his gun was aimed sideways at her (he watches too many movies) and over 60% of people missed at point-blank range, worse if they weren't aiming at all. However, she could see from his eyes that he wouldn't stop firing until she was dead. Those eyes wanted her dead and bleeding corpse at his feet. "I'll fuckin' kill ya', bitch. You dead." His finger tightened.

Hope closed her eyes. She didn't want to see those stone-cold eyes as her last image. She brought up the best things she could think of: her mother's hugs, her father's laugh, and Clark Kent's knee-weakening smile. "Idiot…"

The gun went off. Again. Again. A—

The utter lack of the expected fourth bullet made her open her eyes. There, right in front of her eyes, was a very distinctive pure-red cape. Still moving slightly. (Superman…?) Hope blinked, barely registering the thought when the superhero moved super-fast to each of the three still standing, removing their weapons while at the same time tying them up. By the time Hope had the urge to blink again from sheer disbelief, all four were tied together in the middle of the floor. She'd known Superman was fast, but seeing it was another thing entirely.

She blinked several times in rapid succession, but the scene didn't change. Then it did: she was now staring at that distinctive pure-red diamond-outlined 'S' with it's pure-yellow background. Her eyes went up to connect with his bright blue orbs. "You came," she said stupidly.

His mouth quirked minutely, "You called."

Her mouth opened, closed, opened, "Thank you."

His eyebrows furrowed in deep concern. "I was almost too late," he said softly. She followed his gaze to the floor where two extremely flat bullets lay, obviously having encountered the Man of Steel's chest.

Hope swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat.

He'd saved her life.

Literally.

Directly.

Saved her life.

"Thank you," she said again. "Guess you're not such an idiot after all." A split second later, her hand clapped over her mouth as she squeaked. (Oh shit…)

His brows lowered in momentary surprise and/or confusion, before they relaxed. His eyes grew more intense, darkening to sapphire. "Hope…" he murmured for her ears only. Barely a whisper.

She opened her mouth behind her hand, but didn't say anything. She couldn't. She'd been keeping her identity from him for a reason!

He gave a deep throaty chuckle, "Cat got your tongue? Run out of expletives?"

She squeaked.

His smile widened.

"Superman? Sir? I've called the police. They said they'll be here in five minutes." Saved by the clerk.

Hope and Superman both turned to look to the female attendant who up until now had been silent. "Thank you. We'll all need to give statements so that these men can be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law." Hope blinked at the completely different tone and facial expression he presented to the clerk. Determined, commanding, reassuring, powerful, calm.

For a few brief moments, she'd seen someone else. The real Clark Kent? Or was Clark another mask? If so, she'd have to apologize. Having three faces was smart. Though how badly Kent had been hidden was moronic. Maybe she wouldn't have to apologize after all. Unless it was done on purpose? But why…?

It took almost an hour for the police to finish taking her statement because they made her go over it several times. They grilled her about her gun, and the officer got a pinched expression when she pulled out her concealed carry license. Finally let her keep her weapon, since she hadn't actually gotten a chance to fire it, and all registered firearms' ballistics were already on file. When she was eventually let go, after telling her that she might be contacted later for follow-up questions, Hope wearily began to walk.

Halfway down the block, she stopped, "I know you're there."

He floated into view. That grin was back. The smile that threatened to melt her knees. "You are observant. Let me escort you home."

She nodded, knowing that she couldn't stop him, and the cat was already out of the bag. He knew who she was now. Knew where she worked. It wouldn't take much to break into H.R. and get her contact information and address. So instead of arguing, she said, "Thanks again."

His brows knitted together, his eyes darkened and not in a knee-weakening way. "Do you always walk home this late?"

Hope shook her head, "Extenuating circumstances. Extra long day coupled with no din—" she groaned.

"What is it?"

"I didn't get my dinner," she pouted. Her stomach grumbled its own protest right on cue.

Superman's eyes lightened with realization, but the concern didn't disappear. "Why didn't you take a taxi from the office?"

"It's only five blocks and I needed food. My cupboards are bare." She saw his expression and defended, "I haven't gotten the chance to go to the store this week." His eyebrow raised. "Okay, two weeks. But I hate shopping!" His mouth quirked in humor.

They walked companionably in silence for half a block. "Why didn't you email me back?" he asked next.

Hope sighed, knowing that question had been coming. "You told your mother about me." His eyebrow raised again. "Telling your mother about another individual usually has certain connotations. Expectations."

Superman gave a slow nod of understanding, though his eyes were drawn together as if he were in deep contemplation. Slowly he offered, "And if I said my only expectation is to get to know you better?"

She swallowed hard, not knowing what to do or say. So she stayed silent for another half-block. "You know I won't tell anyone."

"I know."

"It's not safe for people to know about me either."

"True."

"I won't be in the limelight that Lois likes so much."

"You won't use me like Lois, either," he replied gently.

She took a deep breath, "This is my building."

He looked up at the apartment complex. "Do you have a balcony?"

"Yes, but I don't keep it unlocked. Let's just take the elevator."

"No. If you don't want others to know that we…interact…then you need to go up by yourself. Call my name when you get settled."

She nodded and turned to do exactly that. Five minutes later, she was locking her front door even as she toed off her shoes and dropped her purse on the side table. A quick glance in her fridge made her grimace. She really needed to go to the store tomorrow. She sighed and went to her balcony sliding door, unlocked it, stuck her head out and called, "Idiot?"

A chuckle made her look up as he descended. "Are you always going to call me that?"

"Maybe." That made him smile and she could see it was a genuine smile. The one that made her knees weak. "I brought you a present."

Hope blinked, then gave a chuckle as he produced a sandwich from under his cape. "Thank you, Moron. That was very thoughtful." She turned and got a knife. Cutting the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, she set each half on a plate. She presented a plate to him with her own flourish.

"Oh, no. I got that for you." She narrowed her eyes at him and didn't lower the plate. His mouth twitched, nodded, "Yes, ma'am," as if she had given him an order. Which, in a way, she had.

When they had both finished, she gathered the dishware and set them in the sink.

"Oh, I can get that," he said.

She looked at him with her own raised eyebrow. "It's after midnight. The damned dishes can wait until later."

He grinned, "You're feeling better." At her confused expression, he clarified, "You swore."

She snorted, but acknowledged the truth. "Am… Am I really the only one who's figured it out?"

"Lois knows, and my mother, but that's it."

Hope grimaced. "Careful of Mrs. Lane. I don't trust her not to blackmail you or something if you stop doing what she wants. She's a fabulous reporter and will do anything for her story."

He merely looked at her for a couple long moments, "Thank you."

She blinked, "For what?"

"You look out for me. The emails, the advice. You care what happens to me."

She blinked again, "Well…yeah." It was her turn to feel like an idiot. "Anyone would." The only thing stopping her in the beginning, when Superman first appeared, was that the superhero didn't have an address where she could send things.

His smile became sad alongside admiration, "No, not anyone."

She felt like blushing. Was she blushing? She was blushing. Damnit!

His head jerked toward the left and he stared through her wall. His entire demeanor had changed again. He'd become Superman. He looked back at her, "I have to go."

"I have to sleep," it was all she could think to say.

He nodded and a small bit of that man who had eaten a BLT slid into his eyes as he bent forward. "See you tomorrow, Hope." Then he gave her cheek a chaste kiss and disappeared at super-speed.

It took her several seconds for her brain to register what he'd done. When it did, she growled and ran to the already open balcony door. She yelled out at the top of her lungs, "You're going to pay for that, you idiot!"

Was it her imagination, or did she hear laughter as she closed and locked the sliding door?

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

 **I'm combining Christopher Reeves' Superman movies with the newest DC cinema, so it may be a bit confusing on a timeline. I'm doing my best. No beta, all mistakes are mine.**

 _Please let me know what you think, but be kind. I know it's not perfect._


	6. Cabinets

**Hopeful Idiot** **\- Chapter 05**

Hope growled at her alarm going off at its customary 5.55 o'clock. "What's the o stand for? Oh my God it's early," Hope quoted _Good Morning Vietnam_ under her breath as she threw a hand over her eyes before reluctantly getting up after barely five hours of sleep. "The human body may only require four hours of sleep, but I need more." She let out a jaw-popping yawn. "Definitely need to talk to H.R. about overtime. Or at least the ability to sleep in after such a looong day."

After a quick shower, which completed the waking up process, she grabbed a set of her customary clothes and headed for the kitchen. Then she groaned, faceplanting against the wall. No dinner last night meant no breakfast this morning. "Looks like a side-trip to McDonald's. I swear, if someone tries to rob the place, I'm gonna do something I won't regret."

Fortunately, there wasn't a stick-up and she went through the line (relatively) quickly, but the detour made her slightly late. When she reached her office at the astonishing time of 7.17am, she found her inbox already held five I.T. requests. "Good thing I got coffee…" she muttered and got to work. A chime sounded every time a new email request came; the list never stopped.

Three coffees and six hours later, Hope heard the chime as she was checking off her To Do List. Clicking the email, she swore, "Sonovabitch… I can't take her shit today. If she pushes me too hard, I'm gonna punch her." With extreme reluctance, Hope gathered a few bits and bobs she might need as she, once again, went to fix Lois Lane's printer.

She was in the elevator and halfway up before she remembered that Clark Kent shared a space with said Lois Lane…and the asshole had kissed her last night without permission! Sure it was a chaste brother-sister kiss, but that wasn't the point! Of course, she'd need Superman's help if she was to keep her job having to deal with Lane. What to do, what to do…

When she got off the elevator, Hope sniffed the air in surprise. "Smoke?" Why would she be able to smell burning? A feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach at the cause of the smell, Hope ran to the bullpen at a dead sprint. Seeing the blackened area around a certain redhead's desk, Hope cursed under her breath, "What has that crazy bitch done now?"

Clark's dark head popped up, his expression apologetic. He mouthed, _'Sorry'_ at her.

"Oh, I'll make her sorry alright," Hope growled/muttered as she stomped over. "What. Happened." she enunciated distinctly.

Lois waved her hands in the air as if in surrender. "I was trying to print the newest layout and it just blew up. I swear, I didn't do anything!" her expression was such that indicated she believed what she said, but Hope knew better than to believe a reporter of Lane's caliber. They took lying as an art form.

"Move," Hope almost shoved the woman away from the computer, but managed to stop herself barely in time. "Stay out of my way."

"Done. I'll be in the rec room." Lois flounced off.

Hope's fingers punched keys as she tried to figure out what went wrong. It wasn't long before Kent's tenor reached her ears. "How is it?"

More keys pounded. "She killed it," Hope announced after another minute. "Dead. Kaput. Don't suppose you have any powers over electronics?" her eyes slid to him with a small bit of humor in her eye.

"Ummm…no," he blinked at her, half-amused.

Long moments of silence as she knelt down to begin the process of unhooking the current printer from the system. Lois would need a new one. Bitch. She really should know better by now. "I still owe you for last night, you know."

There was distinct ribbing in his tone when he answered, "I was wondering when you'd bring it up."

Hope blinked, momentarily losing focus. His timbre, along with the comment, made her think they may be speaking of two different things. Either that, or she couldn't focus on Lois' ineptitude and Clark's hotness at the same time. Hope reached for a wire as she attempted to work and talk. "So what do you want?"

"What?" Confusion.

"As a thank you present? For saving my life? What would you like? The sky is the limit." She paused, then continued, "Not my bank account, but you can still ask." She tilted her head to grin at him, "I have electronic powers." She wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

He laughed softly but shook his head. "I didn't do it expecting reciprocity." It was an odd thought actually. Hope was the first person to even mention anything similar. Another way in which she was different. Oh, he'd been given a few keys to cities, but those were ceremonial; window dressing only. Hope was offering to give him something real, something he wanted.

Hope's smile became a touch sad, "Yeah, I know. No one who thinks like you does. But showing appreciation is still nice. I have it on good authority."

It was an interesting comment. Perhaps a relative of hers was in the military? The armed forces were similar in that approach. Instead, he redirected the conversation, "Actually, I was referring to your cabinets."

Hope paused, wondering at the shift, but continued. She pulled up and out from under Lois' desk, cords in hand, and blinked at him in confusion. "My cabinets?" she asked slowly. He nodded, a boyish grin crossing his features. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his toes. A picture of innocence.

Her eyes narrowed. "Claaark… What did you do to my cabinets?"

His grin widened, "Oh, nothing much."

She crossed her arms and glared. "If I call up your mother, will _she_ say that it wasn't much?" Such an expression demanded a parental investigation.

Clark's smile grew until it stretched from ear to ear. "My mother has no idea, and would be on my side if she did find out."

Suddenly, Hope really wanted to go home and find out what in the hell Superman had to do with her cabinets. And which cabinets? Bathroom? Hallway? Kitchen? Wait…he had looked in her kitchen cupboards last night… "What. Did. You. Do."

His form rocked, smile still wide. "I guess you'll have to wait until tonight to find out."

"I hate you." He froze, his beaming smirk falling instantly. Hope registered that he hadn't understood and quickly kept going, "It's going to take over my brain all day today! Making me wonder about all sorts of possibilities, and the probabilities of which is which given the likelihood with what I know of you, and I won't be able to get anything productive done. Do you know how much email I get all day? You are a mean, mean person who obviously cares nothing for the trials and troubles of the common I.T. guru." She gave a dramatic sniff.

The more she spoke, her words tripping over each other in a rush to explain, the more his grin returned. When she finally ran out of steam, he was smiling fully again. He stepped close to her, right into her personal space, making her still, eyes wide in surprise at this turn of events, and breathed into her ear, "You are many things, Miss Hope Kramer, but 'common' is not one of them." She shivered as he put a chaste kiss to her cheek, though it lingered longer than the one the night before. "Call my name and I'll come."

As he gently steered her (along with her dead printer burden) to the hallway, her brain was forced to re-boot itself. Or make the attempt. That close, she had been able to smell his aftershave. Clean and bright, just like him. "Oh Hope, you're an idiot," she muttered to herself. The way this was going, she'd end up kissing him in front of the entire bullpen and not give a damn.

(Of course, she'd only told him to distance herself from Superman, not Clark Kent, so technically it was fine. He hadn't gone against her wishes. But if they got any closer, then Lois was going to get involved. The woman was so weird, she'd probably get jealous or something. Not to mention, the reporter would probably start investigating Hope herself and that wouldn't be good. The woman would hit a brick firewall and go insane from unalleviated curiosity and may do something drastic. On second thought… Hmmm… )

Unheard by the redhead, Clark gave a soft, very satisfied, male laugh.

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

Hope stared at her kitchen cabinets. Her FULL kitchen cabinets. She pulled open the refrigerator. And stared at the FULL shelves of produce and meat. "Holy…" There were a lot of thoughts running through her brain. How had he done this without waking her? How had he gotten inside when the door had been locked? How'd he get so much food so quickly? And most importantly… WHY had he done it? Superman did NOT go around giving out food. He saved people from burning buildings or falling out of helicopters (his latest stunt with Lois), but he didn't give people food. So why her?

The two kisses flashed through her mind. How good he smelled. How warm his skin felt. The caress of his fingers against the small of her back.

Hope narrowed her eyes and began to gather ingredients. "I think…it's time to pull out Mom's cookbook…"

The title of the collection was The Kramer Family Arsenal. And across the inside cover of the family recipe binder were the words, _The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Arm yourself well to ensnare your quarry._


	7. Identity

**Hopeful Idiot – Chapter 06: Identity**

As Hope set the timer for the oven, she sighed. "If I'm really going to give this a shot, then…" she pulled her laptop towards her and began to investigate. She poured over document after document, trying to find a loophole. Something. Anything that would prevent anyone (other than herself and stupid Lois) from discovering the (rather obvious) association between Superman and Clark Kent. She found none.

She sat back in her seat and stared at the ceiling as she pondered the problem. "Need a Plan B."

Hope pulled the casserole out of the oven, put the special ham hock into the oven, and nodded decisively. It wasn't the best solution, but it was the only one that seemed feasible. "Okay," she muttered to herself, heading back to her desk, "time for Plan C." Fortunately for a person such as herself, the required forgeries didn't take long. Not long after that, the forgeries were accepted into every major governmental branch. Then came the REAL hacking.

Some time later, her oven timer went off. She cursed under her breath. "Idiot!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. Not two seconds later there was a light tap at her balcony, "It's open. Grab the ham out of the oven, would ya'? I'm in the middle of the IRS website and can't stop."

"Sure," Superman answered easily, his voice curious but amiable.

"Potholders are in the drawer to the right of the oven."

He gave a soft chuckle, "Thanks but I don't need them."

"Show off."

His laugh deepened, making things in her lower middle tighten. She bit her lip as a particularly difficult firewall tried to make her laptop a pile of sludge and put a tracker on her at the same time. "No. No. No. No. Nonononono," she muttered continuously, "Don't chase me. Give up already! You stupid multi-level confundous—"

"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at her screen over her shoulder in confusion.

"I'm killing you," she answered.

Superman blinked at her. "What?" he deadpanned.

"Would ya' gimme a minute, this is not as easy as it looks." Thankfully he stayed silent for the next 6.23 minutes it took her to crash the program, erase the evidence of her tampering, and exit. "I'm almost done," she assured him when she saw his mouth open from the corner of her eye. His eyes narrowed as he saw her pull up another three links, all of which he recognized. Nine minutes later, she leaned back and grinned at him sideways. "Aaaand, done!" She shut the computer down and handed it to him. "Break this please. Actually, if you could drop it into a volcano as you go home, that'd be better."

This time his glare was strong. He didn't take the laptop. "What did you do? That was the websites for my alma mater, high school, and the Smallville Hospital. What do you mean you were killing me?" he growled.

Hope rolled her eyes as she got to her feet and stretched. "Pretty much what I said. I just killed Clark Jonathan Kent. Well, sorta." She narrated as she went to the kitchen and began to pull out place settings. "All the paperwork in the world now says that Clark _Jonathan_ Kent died right after graduating high school in Smallville, Kansas." She emphasized his middle name that had been on no document other than a birth certificate when she had started.

Superman crossed his arms as his glare intensified. "So who is going to work tomorrow?"

She grinned at him with no small amount of mischief, "Clark _Jasper_ Kent, a reporter for _The Daily Planet_ is going to work tomorrow. He graduated magna cum laude from Metropolis High, extra curriculars with his school paper and captain of the chess club, where he then went on to receive the highest honors for his degree in Investigative Journalism at Metropolis University. Clark Jasper was born and grew up in Metropolis, where he now lives and works. He has no association with Smallville and, in fact, has never before traveled what some people call 'fly over country'."

His mouth was hanging slightly open in shock as she set a plate of food in front of him and continued, "Since you have only ever used Clark Kent, no middle name, it was relatively simple to alter the paperwork. Your current Social Security Number and IRS information is correct and up-to-date with the new background information. After I got done with that, I just had to alter any photos from your hometown so that you were either cropped out of the picture or Photoshopped just enough that Clark Jonathan Kent could be your brother or cousin, but not you exactly. It's enough evidence to make anyone doubt a connection.

"As far as I'm aware, the only remaining accounts of Clark Jasper being the same man as Clark Jonathan are eyewitnesses. Most of whom can be easily discredited if it should ever become an issue, especially to Average Joe Public who aren't willing to put in the time and effort of confirming sources. The only ones that might – might – be believed are your mother and Lois Lane. You said she knew. Does she know your background? Your hometown? Ever met your mother?"

The new Clark Jasper Kent nodded slowly as he processed what the redhead in front of him had done. "All of the above," he whispered hoarsely, then reached for his glass.

Hope grimaced, "It can't be helped, but I'll start to think of a way to make sure that Lane stays away. In the meantime, you – meaning the Superman you – needs to start disassociating yourself with Lois. How about branching out? Do interviews with other newspapers, not just the _Planet_. _The New York Times, Los Angeles Times,_ and the _Chicago Tribune_ are all good options. Or perhaps the _New York Post_ , _Dallas Morning News, Star Tribune,_ or the _Washington Post_. All those are in the top 10 newspapers for the U.S.A. If you want to go international, I'd recommend the BBC. Heck, you could even do an interview on ABC, FOX, CNN, or even MSNBC if you want, but you **really need** to get out from under Lois! She's too much of a target. Someone could easily go through her, straight to you and your mother," she finished solemnly.

His mouth snapped shut, a stubbornness straightening his shoulders and firming his resolve. "Understood," he took his first bite of the meal and froze. Swallowed. Began to eat with relish…and didn't stop to speak again until he'd finished the ham and half the casserole. When he finally slowed down enough to look up, he saw Hope's wide Cheshire grin. He blushed deeply at his poor manners. His mother would have hit his hands several times over for such rude behavior at the dinner table. "It's really good," he said lamely.

Hope burst out laughing.

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 _This chapter is a gift to CrystalAris, who graciously spent a couple hours helping me iron out details last night._


	8. Trouble

**Hopeful Idiot – Chapter 07: Trouble**

Hope came into the bullpen with stomping hard steps, clearly on a mission. Every male with any sense (or experience with the opposite sex) took one look at her and got out of her way. "Kent!" she barked out sharply.

Clark looked up, blinking in confusion as the part of his brain that he kept on guard for local/physical proximity pinged. His pure-blue eyes blinked at the I.T. specialist, and the woman he'd been having dinner with for the last three nights. Then his mind registered her expression and felt a pit of dread somewhere in his stomach. "Yes, Ms Kramer?" he barely got the formal address out before she grabbed hold of his ear, twisted, and pulled him forcibly out of the room.

(Of course, it wasn't as if he didn't want to go with her – well, he didn't, but she was his Hope and he went willingly. In a sense. Ears were sensitive!)

"Hope?" he asked as she pushed with all her strength at his chest, shoving him bodily into her realm. He went where she directed. He didn't think it was the best time to bring up how, if he didn't want to, she wouldn't have been able to budge him with an industrial crane. "What's wrong, Hope?"

For several moments – as in the long walk there – she just seethed as she glared at him with every fiber of her being. Finally, still unable to voice her anger, she shoved a paper at him. It was obviously printed from an internet site, but the headline "Superman Gives Exclusive" was in large bold letters. He blinked at it, then up at her, confused. "It was your idea to go to another newspaper… You listed several. Isn't this what you wanted?" _To get away from Lois_ went unsaid.

Hope went even redder as her anger grew, if that were possible. With a loud growl of sheer frustration, she whirled on her heel, spinning in place, as her arms came up to beg askance from whatever deities felt like listening. Still, she was so beyond words that it was all she could do. Glares and sounds. After serval minutes of Clark patiently waiting in absolute confusion, she got hold of herself enough to punch a button on her laptop.

Immediately, a chorus of "jungle sounds" began to blast from several surround-sound speakers. Clark jerked, wincing at the unexpectedness.

Hope really didn't care. She finally had enough strength and mindfulness to speak. "On her **balcony?!** " she half-screamed at him. He blinked at her, not understanding her anger. She wasn't mad about the article? "You met with a reporter. A **female** reporter. On her **balcony**. At **night. Alone.** And you thought this was a GOOD IDEA?!"

"Umm…"

Her glare intensified at his obvious cluelessness. "You actually thought this through and decided, 'oh sure, meeting with a fully mature, single, female, at night, at her home, was a FABULOUS idea!' Is that what happened, Idiot? Because you are DEFINITELY living up to your name right now!" Now that her anger had an available, safe, outlet, and her words had been able to be freed from their capture the first time she'd read the article, her face broke and Clark could see that buried under the fury was actually pain. She had been hurt by his actions, and he didn't understand why. He watched as his Hope lost enough steam that she practically fell into her desk chair and her eyes looked up at him in askance. "Please, Clark. Please help me make sense of why you did this." His Hope. Such a pure soul. One who intensely cared about him in ways no one else did. She took pains to protect not only him but his mother as well. Going so far as to endanger herself to do so. Asking nothing in return except to throw the evidence of her protection into a volcano. Giving freely of her food and home. Going out of her way to see to his needs. He had fallen hard and fast for this beautiful woman, who most overlooked and took for granted; just as Superman himself was by society as a whole.

His Hope. And she was only two inches away from crying.

It was more than he could bare. He stepped forward and knelt, grabbing her hand in his own, looking up into her hazel eyes. "It was just an interview. You said to go to another newspaper. She's their lead investigative reporter. Nothing happened, I swear to you."

Hope didn't want to admit how close she was to tears. She felt them in the back of her throat, just waiting. "You met with her, alone, at her home, at night. What is anyone supposed to think, Clark?" She called him by name. A symbol of how serious this was. This was no small thing to her. No small thing at all. "The article says you knew what color her underwear was, Clark. Her underwear. Why are you looking at another woman's underwear?"

Clark sighed, shaking his head, disavowing the intention. "She asked if I could see through anything. Then asked about the color of her underwear to prove it. I—" he stopped, having no words. What did one say at a time like this?

Hope didn't have glares left. Oh, she was still angry, don't get her wrong, but the overwhelming feeling of betrayal was more prevalent. However, she had spent several hours going through the biography of one Clark Kent in order to build a new one and kill the old. She knew him more than most. Most didn't realize how much was on their social media accounts. She knew what almost no one did: Superman had never before had a girlfriend.

So Hope did what she thought her mother might do in such a situation, she steeled her spine, pushed away her emotions, and began to educate. "Do you realize how _she_ would see your interview? The subterfuge and intimate nature of the rendezvous?" He blinked blankly. "She thought it was a date, Clark. A romantic interlude. Meeting someone of the opposite sex that is over the age of majority, alone, in that person's home… Anyone who read that article will think the same." He blinked again. Her heart clenched at his expression. He really hadn't realized what he'd done. The poor clueless bastard. "You took her flying, Clark. Something you haven't even done with me. Considering that _you_ are the engine for such an experience, I can only imagine that the…embrace…you shared was quite intimate." He shook his head, ready to argue. She didn't give him the chance. "Intimate for her, then." His mouth closed with a snap. She shook her head and sighed. "You're such an idiot."

There was a long silence that fell between them. Then, quietly, his strong deep voice said, "But I'm your Idiot."

She looked back into those deep blue eyes. Eyes that were currently pleading for forgiveness. She sighed. "If you get another idea like this, you need to run it by me first."

"Yes."

"You don't understand how girls think. Earth-raised or not. I can't have my boyfriend galivanting off with single females unaccompanied. I won't." The last was side with a firm finality. Except when she peeked again at his eyes, they were glittering with amused happiness. "What?"

"Boyfriend?" He grinned.

She blinked. "Of everything I said, _that_ is what you took?"

"Oh, I heard it all… But I think that's the most important piece, yes." He nodded just as firmly. "Definitely the most important."

Hope blinked again, then turned her eyes towards heaven. Males, no matter the planet of origin, couldn't understand female thought processes, but it seemed that females didn't either. They were both so screwed…and not in the fun way. At least not yet.

She sighed, looked down at her hopeless Idiot, and sighed again. "You are taking me flying." It was not a question or request. Her tears had dried up. For now at least. This was a command.

"Where do you want to go?" he didn't argue. Having an excuse to hold her close, to breathe in her scent? Nope, he wasn't going to argue.

"…No idea. But you are NOT going to give a flying lesson to some single bimbo reporter without giving one to your girlfriend. Every female will be on my side too, if we could ask them. It's unconscionable. Horrible lapse in judgement on your part." She thought of at least one female that she could tell and her eyes narrowed on him, "And if you think I'm wrong, I'll just call your mother and explain things. Wonder what she'll say about this, hmmm?" She'd been meaning to call Martha Kent about her pie recipe anyway. Apparently Hope's own pies weren't quite as good as Martha's and Hope wanted desperately to know what she was doing wrong. She'd tried fixing it three times now and still with unsatisfactory results!

Clark used some of his monumental will to suppress his smile. This was more than promising in his eyes. His Hope was thinking, not only of his family and loved ones, but of her relationship to them, to him, and possibly of their future together. He hadn't been so happy in years. "How about I meet you on **your** balcony tonight? The two of us take a flight to Paris?"

Paris was reportedly the most romantic city on the planet. But that was to the average joe. Hope was not the average joe. Her eyes narrowed. "You trying to weasel your way out of this? Wrong destination."

He drew her forward into his arms. The wheels of her desk chair aiding him in bringing her as close as he wished. Beyond propriety. "Where do you want to go, my Hope?" he whispered into her ear. He felt her bodily shiver and gave a purely male smile into her hair. "I'll fly you to the stars, if that is your wish." The inuendo was obvious, even to him.

Hope couldn't help her shiver and felt that deep-belly tighten again. Then wondered how good his sense of smell was. Could he smell her arousal when he used that timbre? It was intoxicating! Definitely bringing to mind dark thing in the bedroom that 'good girls' didn't know about. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one thought about it, she hadn't been a good girl for many years.

However, they hadn't moved beyond sparse touches and cheek-kisses. With that in mind, she swallowed back her lust, and intoned, "You aren't getting off that easily, Kent. You'll take me to the one place you'll never take anyone else. This is a test of trust, Clark." She drew back to look him deeply in the eyes, trying to portray how serious this was. If he was going to go gallivanting off to other women's balconies at all times of the night, Hope needed some serious reassurances. She was a one-man woman, and she didn't share. "I've given you the keys to me, Clark. Because of this," she tapped the printed pages, "I need some reciprocity sooner than you may be comfortable. I was willing to wait…" she sighed. "I need something. Some proof. Something that you'd never give another woman. Proof I can hold to my heart as you are off flying with other women." Her chest clenched at the mere idea.

Clark's eyes narrowed as he heard her heart actually skip a beat. This was far more serious than her initially realized. Whatever she saw in his actions –which was obvious something that he hadn't seen, still didn't really—it was important to _her_. Important enough that she was drawing a proverbial line in the sand. Whatever it was that he chose to show her, it was significant. Serious. Would tell her something that he wasn't sure he fully understood from her body language, though he did understand the intensity.

He nodded slowly, agreeing. He knew that she didn't need words right now. That much he did know. She needed actions. She needed to believe. "I'll meet you at eight, my Hope. Wear something warm."

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 _I was watching the 1978 Superman movie, got to the scene with Lois and Clark flying after their news interview and this drove me crazy enough that I had to stop the movie to write. Hope you enjoyed!_


	9. Overthinking & Lois

**Hopeful Idiot – Chapter 08: Overthinking & Lois**

Once the meeting plans had been made, all Hope could hear resounding throughout her head, was Clark calling her ' _my Hope'_.

She'd had enough brain power to drag him away from the bullpen, and even remembered to push play on the insanely-loud "Jungle Sounds" Youtube video before she asked him about the article. (Very proud of herself for remembering both.) Then he'd been clueless and she'd lost her cool for a bit. She'd even said 'please'. Twice! She'd almost cried! (Still might if this evening went worse than expected.)

Then he'd called himself ' _your Idiot'_ , which she didn't really have a problem with…not really. He had called himself that; it was _inviting_ her to use the more personal form of address. But then he'd called her _'_ _my_ _Hope'_. Twice. She hadn't called herself that, inviting him to do so in the future. Nope, he'd called her that all on his own. Twice.

Hope rubbed her forehead. "How am I supposed to take this?" she whispered to the air. It was an intimate connection she had not initiated. A pet name like that was practically a we've-been-dating-for-six-months thing. They'd officially been dating only a few hours. Unofficially dating for a week. (Though, you could make the argument that they'd been unofficially dating since that stupid email…which would put it at two months.) Any way she thought about it, it was too soon!

Was this a male thing? A Kryptonian thing? Or just a you're-his-first-girlfriend thing? Or maybe it was a Clark thing? Some combination of the above?

And if he was at the 'my Hope' stage, what did that mean for their plans tonight? He'd agreed…but what did he have in mind? Hope had been thinking of meeting his mother…but that didn't mean it was what he was intending. Did she dare ask? No, she'd let it alone for now. See what happened tonight first. Then ask if things didn't… Who knows?!

With all this second-guessing, Hope was starting to think she was having an overly female moment (overthinking relationships being a very female trait). "Don't panic until there's a reason to panic," she assured herself. "Just let it be for now. Let it be."

How about she contemplate what 'dress warmly' meant! Let's overthink that phrase instead… "Warm for October? Warm for February? Light sweater or heavy coat?" Hope began to pull up worldwide temperature forecasts. "Wait, he flies. He's taking me flying. The higher you go in the atmosphere, the colder it gets. Maybe I'm just dressing for the flying part…" Oh yes, overthinking the 'dress warmly' comment was much more relaxing!

"I'm starting to think we're both idiots," Hope muttered to herself as she pulled up another page and asked for temp gauges based on elevation.

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

Lois Lane silently seethed all day. Most of her mind was fuming at one article in particular. SUPERMAN GIVES EXCLUSIVE was all over the internet that morning. Perry White had already called the entire bullpen into his office and yelled at them for not getting the exclusive themselves. Clark had the decency to look halfway sheepish, but Lois was livid. And she couldn't say anything while everyone else was around! So she seethed and fumed for hours.

And what was with Kramer? Lois hadn't seen it herself (it had occurred before she came in that morning) but the bullpen had been buzzing about the incident ever since. Kent hadn't said a single word about the subject, just shaking his head or shrugging noncommittally whenever anyone asked. Even Lois herself! Didn't Kent know that such behavior was unacceptable? Friends shared things like that! While they hadn't said it explicitly that they were friends, she'd thought it was fait-accompli, given that she knew he was Superman. She'd defended him against the United States military for crying out loud?! He'd saved her life twice _!_ Didn't that count for something?!

So, she fumed. And seethed. For hours.

Finally, it was quitting time and people began to pack up to go home.

"Kent? Can I talk to you privately?" Lois gave herself a mental pat on the back for her voice keeping such an even tone.

Clark blinked at her a couple times as his mind refocused, "I kinda have plans tonight, Lois. Can it wait?"

"No," she said through gritted teeth.

"Alright, Lois." He nodded slowly. "Is there something wrong?"

Lois Lane looked around. Seeing that Mr. White was going to be staying longer, she gestured for them to go into a conference room. Clark didn't comment, just followed her. When she closed the door behind him, turning to glare at him with all the hositility she'd kept pent up all day. She shoved the article at him, he didn't budge an inch, which made her all the madder. "WHAT THE HELL, CLARK?!"

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

By the time six o'clock came around, Hope had second-guessed herself into a right state. Between the 'my Hope'-ing and the 'dress warmly'-ing, she wanted confirmation on at least one thing before she drove herself crazy. Why she didn't just send an email, she wasn't sure, perhaps because their last conversation had been private, but this felt like something she wanted to hear in-person.

So, she waited patiently (okay, semi-patiently) until the evening edition had been posted (and thus when most people began to head home). Then she made her way down to the main bullpen, hoping to catch her idiot before he left.

Thus she was walking down the hallway towards that area, when the sound of someone yelling at the top of their lungs reached Hope's ears. A female someone. Yelling at Clark.

Hope wasted no time, her mind already narrowing along with her eyes. Even at a half-run, Hope heard the female response clearly, even if she didn't hear her idiot's replies (they being at normal volume) until she was right on top of them.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT NEVER OCCURRED TO YOU?! – SHE'S A FEMALE REPORTER, OF **COURSE** IT MATTERED! – AND WHY DID YOU GIVE AN EXCLU—"

"That's **enough** ," Hope said as she pushed open the conference room door. Just as she suspected, Lois Lane had literally cornered her boyfriend. Probably had chased him around the table too, if he'd been unwise enough not to stand his ground. Hope did not have that problem. She knew how to handle women like Lois. "I heard you as soon as I got off the elevator, Ms. Lane. Such behavior is more appropriate to a private residence, not the workplace."

Lois Lane rounded on the interloper. "You don't know what he did!"

Hope raised an imperious eyebrow, "It does not matter what Mr. Kent did or did not do. Your comportment is unacceptable for this environs." Big words made people stop and rethink. It almost forced a calmer attitude. Hope didn't know the psychology about why it worked, and she didn't really care; she just knew it did and used it to her advantage when necessary. "Once you are ready to discuss things rationally, I'm sure that Mr. Kent will be amenable. Though I would recommend a mediator. As it is, I think Mr. Kent and I will depart while you collect your thoughts. Perhaps you could put pen to paper for the next meeting to be as succinctly productive as possible. Mr. Kent, if you would please follow me? I wished to continue our previous discussion."

"Of course, Ms. Kramer," Clark immediately agreed and put actions to words. The pair left the conference room with the star reporter of the paper standing with her mouth open. "Thanks for the save," he whispered with a grin, "Don't see Lois speechless often."

Hope gave him a sideways capricious smile, "I doubt it'll work again, certainly not nearly as effectively, but the shock of it will almost always work once." It was such a dramatic shift in how Hope usually dealt with the woman that it left her literally speechless. "As for rescuing you, well, I figured turn-about is only fair. I owed you one. Now we're even."

Clark let out a bark of laughter, his eyes sparkling. "So, what did you want to ask me?"

Hope giggled, the pair stopped in front of the building doors. "I was wondering how warmly I should dress. You were rather vague. We talking Alaska in spring? Or Hawaii in winter?"

His grin widened. "More along the lines of northern Alaska in December."

Hope blinked at him, "Good God, Idiot, how high do you usually go?" referring to the altitude.

"I don't do drugs," he instantly fired back.

It took her a split-second to realize what he meant. "Oh, _you_!" She rolled her eyes and hit him on the shoulder as she walked towards her apartment complex.

He laughed low, making her stomach twist nicely, as he kept pace. After a couple seconds of silence, he asked, "Did you know that you live in the same building as Lois?"

Hope grimaced at the news, "No, but I'm not too surprised. It's a good building, high reviews, nice security, all those good things people look for when out apartment-hunting. Law of Large Numbers and all that."

Clark tilted his head, making a mental note to look that up later. For now, he continued, "In fact," he said, "she's only two balconies above yours."

Hope stopped walking and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "Do you have a point, Idiot, or are you just emulating your namesake?"

"Well, I was thinking," he mused thoughtfully, "If we are distancing you from my alter, then it's a good thing Lois is in the same building right above your own. People will assume that when Superman visits you—"

"—that he's visiting her. People usually see what they want to see. Clever." Hope nodded and continued walking. "You realize that this is setting her up as a patsy. I know I don't like the woman, but that is almost to the point of cruelty. It's certainly manipulative." Clark's eyes widened and Hope gave a very frustrated sigh. "We can't have it both ways, Idiot. Either we distance you from her so that she's less of a target, or we use her deliberately as a doppelganger for me." She looked at the sky and growled, "I don't have a problem with either, but if she's going to be playing as my double, then we should talk to her about it. Ah damn, we should talk to her about it either way. See what she thinks. The woman is manipulative as all hell. Shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"Sometimes, I hate having a conscience."

They stopped as they reached the entrance to her building. He smiled down at her. "I like that you think of all the angles. And I appreciate that even though you don't like Lois, you are going out of your way to think of her well-being and opinions."

Hope blinked at him, confused. "Well, damn, Idiot, all things considered, if we're putting the woman in danger on purpose, don't you think she should have a say?"

He nodded, "Of course I do. Most people don't think that way however. Not about enemies."

"Oh, phbt! Lois isn't an enemy," Hope snorted derisively. "She's a bane to friendships, but she's not an enemy. She's an excellent reporter. Horrible friend. Manipulative, absolutely. But no, I don't consider her an enemy." Hope didn't tolerate enemies. If push came to shove, Hope Kramer was a vindictive bitch. Fortunately for the world, that had only occurred once. So far.

Clark nodded, "We can talk to her tomorrow. I've got to do a patrol, first. I'll meet you tonight—as we agreed?" He quickly edited his speech when a man came a little too close for his comfort.

Hope smiled and leaned up to kiss him softly on the mouth. "Tonight." She had to walk away quickly, darting into her building, as she spent the next five minutes continuously licking her lips of his taste. "Good God in Heaven, Idiot, you taste like vanilla, nutmeg, and sunshine," she whispered to the empty elevator.

Said Idiot was already flying around Metropolis, but he'd begun to keep an ear constantly tuned to one particular voice saying his name. When he heard her comment, he grinned. 'That's fair, my Hope,' he thought, 'You taste like strawberries and rainbows.' Perhaps tonight he'd learn what she tasted like on the inside of her beautiful mouth. Would it be the same? Different? More nuanced? 'Perhaps more like fresh farm strawberries than the not-yet-ripe variety available in stores? Perhaps raspberries…'

A couple of bank robbers had to quickly reassure themselves that Superman was not, in fact, smiling happily when he apprehended them. No of course not. After all, what would Superman smile about?


	10. Meeting the Parents

**Hopeful Idiot – Chapter 09: Meet the Parents**

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God." Hope repeated the mantra, her arms wrapped tightly around Superman's neck in a death grip. If he had been human, circulation would have been something to worry about. Her head was buried in his neck, and she was steadfastly NOT looking down. "I hate you so much right now."

"If you're afraid of heights, why did you ask to fly?" Clark's voice rumbled in her ear.

"I didn't think I was," Hope muttered. She peeked one eye to a slit, saw that all below them was clouds, and her arms tightened further. "I'm fine in my building and at work," she did NOT whimper and slammed her eyes shut again.

Clark smiled into her hair, restraining himself from chuckling. It wasn't funny, not really. It was the irony. The woman he held so closely was probably one of the most confrontational people he'd ever met, usually not afraid of anyone or anything. Yet here she was, holding on to him for dear life, even though she knew he would never drop her.

In deference to her obvious fear and extreme discomfort, he went as fast as he dared with a human passenger; wanting to make the trip as short as possible, but without a capsule to hold back the wind, he was forced to go under Mach 1. He could speed up a little more than he had the night before with the reporter, because Hope wasn't looking where they were going. He held her bridal style with one arm, while the other was out in front of him directing his position. It wasn't aerodynamic, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

"Here we are," he whispered to her, slowing considerably as he descended out of the upper atmosphere. "Take a look." He deliberately came in at a shallower angle than he usually did, so that she could see the grand scope of the building.

Hope blinked against the strong wind in her eyes, which made her tear up, then her mouth opened in surprise. "Oh, Clark," she breathed, "it's beautiful."

It was a pyramidal-shaped structure of clear and white hexagonal crystals. They reminded her of quartz, but on a grander scale. Lots of triangles in the design, where the crystals crossed, forming ceilings and supports, which made sense. Triangles were the strongest geometric shape (that she knew of) and hexagons were just three equilateral triangles around a central point. As they kept flying closer, her eyes widened in increments as she realized exactly how large the ice palace truly was.

He smiled down at her awed expression, "I'm glad you like it. You're the first to ever see it." His feet finally hit the snow-covered entrance platform and set her gently down. "It's my Fortress of Solitude." He kept an arm around her waist until they were through the entrance. "There's several layers of different fields that prevent this place from being found by current human science, and even if anyone did find it, they wouldn't be able to get in without either my permission, or they were a Kryptonian themselves."

Hope goggled at the vast insides, which was only slightly smaller than the outsides. Most of the space was divided into different platforms, not by walls. There was only one partially enclosed alcove she could see, almost hidden in a corner to the far right. "It's amazing, Clark. Absolutely beautiful."

"This is where I spent over twelve years, learning from my father."

Hope frowned in confusion, "Your father? I thought Krypton had been destroyed. That you were the only survivor."

"It was and I am, as far as I know. But this structure has an A.I. form of my father that taught me everything I needed to know to become Superman." He walked her up the steps on the left to the highest platform, which contained a plethora of crystals – all in different lengths, shades of white, and diameters – along with hollow tubes. Clark plucked one of the largest clear crystals from its central place of honor and placed it in the largest hollow tube.

She hadn't realized that the crystals that made up the ceiling generated light until it dimmed. A gentle hum began as a shimmering form took shape in the air before them. "A hologram!" She could see through the man that solidified for another couple seconds, before it was impossible to tell that he was anything other than a normal fully-solid individual.

The man was silver-haired with the same pure-blue eyes of his son. Age and experience had given him wrinkles, but she was happy to see that there were many around his eyes as well, indicating that he liked to smile and laugh. Good traits. His outfit was pure white with silver accents, and Superman's now-iconic 'S' symbol in black in the center of his chest. All this Hope registered in the blink of an eye as the A.I. registered her presence as well, raised a single eyebrow, then looked at his son, "Kal-El?"

Clark smiled, though it did seem a bit forced as he drew her closer until she was flush to his side, "Father, this is Hope Kramer. Hope, this is my biological father, Jor-El."

"Is this human female to be your mate, my son?"

Hope choked on her own spit and began to cough. Clark immediately patted her gently on the back. "Are you okay? Hope?"

She held up a hand, one finger extended in a 'wait' gesture. Once she got a hold of herself and her breathing, she straightened and looked at the program, then back to Clark. "Your dad is either oblivious or an asshole. I'm not sure which is preferable."

"Ahhh…" Clark blushed bright red. "Bit of this, bit of that. He's a Kryptonian scientist. They tend to be rather…" he paused as he searched for a word.

"Blunt? Tactless? Obtuse? Brazen?" Hope supplied helpfully, her smile full of teeth.

"…direct." Clark finished.

Jor-El looked between the woman and his son. Back and forth as he observed their interactions. How his son held her close, protective. How she wasn't intimidated by his strength and abilities, she refused to back down in the face of such alien surroundings, and instead choose to meet his son on her own terms. Brazen, was the word she had used. "Hmmm…I think perhaps it is time."

Kal-El blinked in confusion, turning his attention back to the A.I. "Time, Father?"

"For your mother to instruct you regarding the selection of a mate." Even as the A.I. spoke, he was moving to the side as another hologram began to shimmer into place beside him. She had curly dirty-blonde hair that went passed her shoulders and hazel eyes that shone with love and mirth. Her outfit was similar to her husband's: white and silver. She also had the iconic 'S' in the center of her chest, but hers was smaller than either male; it was done in silver on the white background of the dress with only a vague outline, barely visible, of the diamond shape around the letter. "My love," Jor-El said solemnly, "our son has decided to take a mate."

Hope held up a finger and opened her mouth as if to make some comment, then shook her head. "Nope, I'm not touching this with a ten-foot pole. Clark, where can I hide?"

"You're leaving me?"

"Hell yes! I already went through The Talk once. It's your turn. Man up!"

"I already had this talk with my adoptive parents. I don't need it again!" Even as he spoke though, he gestured to the small alcove she'd seen before.

"Well, maybe you need the Kryptonian version of The Talk, then. 'Cause they're talking like it's a big thing." Hope grinned up at him and leaned in on her tiptoes to give him a light kiss. "You can give me the CliffNotes version later." She jumped down from the platforms steadily as she went. "Mrs. Clark's mom, nice to meet cha'. I'm gonna go hide."

Lara Lor-Van blinked at the redhead, her mouth quirking with suppressed humor. "What an interesting choice you've made, my son."

Kal-El leaned forward on the console with his head in his hand and muttered, "Why me?"

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

In the small alcove, Hope found a recessed concave circular bed—at least she assumed the massive pile of blankets and fluffed pillows was a bed—and proceeded to wrap herself up in one of the silver blankets. "Looks like one of those mylar space blankets that lock in all the heat."

"In fact, it holds in body heat and then radiates it back to you," Jor-El said mildly as he peered at her.

Hope squeaked slightly at the unexpected intrusion, but just glared at him in turn. After a couple seconds, she realized how right the A.I. was, feeling the warmth seep steadily through her triple-layered clothes, and a slow grin spread across her face. "Oh…" she breathed. "I've got a _wonderful_ idea." She threw herself on the bed, chucked off her winter faux-fur overcoat, pulled off her shoes in two quick yanks, then bounced into and proceeded to bury herself in blankets. It only took two seconds for a delightedly happy sigh to escape her.

Jor-El observed this with a carefully neutral expression. After a moment, he asked, "Do you wish to be my son's mate?" When she didn't immediately answer, he continued, "You are obviously a beautiful female by human standards. You no doubt have had opportunities to choose human males in which to bind yourself and continue your bloodline. Why have you chosen Kal-El instead of another of your own species?"

Hope's head poked out between two blankets, the one on top covering her forehead, hair and ears, while the bottom was clutched tightly up to her nose. When she answered, her voice was slightly muffled by the fabric, but was no less understandable. "To answer your first question, it would depend on your definition of 'mate' and the Kryptonian implications therein. Responsibilities, expectations, et cetera." She paused to gather her thoughts and answered as honestly as she could, "Do I like him? Yes. Do I love him? I haven't known him long enough for that." Another pause. "I like spending time with him. I like him, even though half the time he makes me grind my teeth. I like teasing him. I think he likes teasing me. There are times I want to shake him, knock him upside the head, and then there're times when I can't stop thinking about him."

Her eyes went to the ceiling as she thought harder, trying to find words to adequately express herself, "He looks at me like I'm beautiful. And he makes me laugh." She paused, a wry smile coming over her features. "Even when he's fussing over me, it's…nice. Usually males fussing over me drives me up a wall. But when he does it, I don't mind that much." Her head ducked back under the covers. "Take from that what you will."

"Hmmm," Jor-El said, non-committal, and blinked back to his wife's side where she was doing a fine job of turning his son permanently pink. After all, parents had certain rights when it came to embarrassing their children.

 **Posted: 2.19.2020**

 **Wordcount: 1880**


	11. Chapter 10

**Hopeful Idiot – Ch10**

+++++PREVIOUSLY+++++

Hope squeaked slightly at the unexpected intrusion, but just glared at him in turn. After a couple seconds, she realized how right the A.I. was, feeling the warmth seep steadily through her triple-layered clothes, and a slow grin spread across her face. "Oh…" she breathed. "I've got a _wonderful_ idea." She threw herself on the bed, chucked off her winter faux-fur overcoat, pulled off her shoes in two quick yanks, then bounced into and proceeded to bury herself in blankets. It only took two seconds for a delightedly happy sigh to escape her.

[….]

Her eyes went to the ceiling as she thought harder, trying to find words to adequately express herself, "He looks at me like I'm beautiful. And he makes me laugh." She paused, a wry smile coming over her features. "Even when he's fussing over me, it's…nice. Usually males fussing over me drives me up a wall. But when he does it, I don't mind that much." Her head ducked back under the covers. "Take from that what you will."

"Hmmm," Jor-El said, non-committal, and blinked back to his wife's side where she was doing a fine job of turning his son permanently pink. After all, parents had certain rights when it came to embarrassing their children.

+++++AND++NOW+++++

"Hope?" Clark's voice reached her ears, prompting her to poke her head out of the covers again. "Yeah?"

His blue eyes were laughing at her, "You want to come out of there?"

"Nope! I live here now." She grinned while he snorted humorously.

"You live there now, huh?"

"Yup! It's warm here." He laughed again. She peeked out at him, only showing her eyes around the covers, "Did you know that its literally freezing in this fortress of yours?"

"Below freezing, actually," he smiled, his eyes twinkling at her.

"Exactly! So, I live here now." She popped her head back under the covers, snuggling down happily in the warmth of the Kryptonian blankets. "Warm… I like warm," she muttered as the heat began to lull her to sleep, "Warm is good."

Clark's smile gradually fell away as he listened to her heart slow and her breaths even out. His mind was still whirling with embarrassment over Lara's talk, as well as thinking just how beautiful his Hope was…and how delicate. "She's cold," he said softly.

"She's human," Jor-El said. "Humans get cold, especially at these temperatures. Without adequate clothing, humans will get hypothermia at temperatures below 22 degrees Celsius."

Clark's mind automatically changed the 22 Celsius to approximately 72 Fahrenheit. "That high and they'll get hypothermia?" he whispered in astonishment.

"Without adequate clothing, yes." Jor-El sighed, "Humans are incredibly fragile, my son."

The Fortress was one of the safest places that Clark could think of. If something terrible happened, he wanted her safe, so he would send her here…but it wouldn't be feasible if she couldn't stand being in the cold for even an hour. (His mother's Talk had only taken twenty minutes.)

He looked at his father, "Is there anything that can make it easier for her to stay here?"

Jor-El eyed his son and slowly nodded. "As a short-term solution, I can have the Fortress fabricate some Kryptonian garments for her. The Fortress can also create a solution that will make her more durable to extreme temperatures." The hologram's face showed almost no emotion as he listed the options. What emotion was there was along the lines of a thoughtful strategic analysis.

Clark used his x-ray vision to watch Hope sleep for several minutes before he nodded his agreement. "Do it," he paused for long moments, just watching her chest move, "And I want you to start modifications to the Fortress so that she'll feel more comfortable if she has to spend a lot of time here. Food storage, more insulated areas that we can control the temperature more easily, and the medical facilities stocked to treat humans. Just in case." He whispered the last. He didn't want anything to happen, but he also knew that Hope was right; if anyone discovered Superman's connection to her, she would become a target. Just the thought made his chest tighten.

Jor-El inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes briefly shifted to the left as a compartment slid out of the wall, revealing female clothing. "The solution will take 78.3 hours until ready to administer."

Clark whistled lowly. "Three days, wow. Well, can't wait here for that, so I'll come back when it's done."

"Of course. Perhaps you should keep her wrapped in the blanket while you fly her back," Jor-El suggested.

His son nodded, "Good idea."

"I will also work on a few items for your mate, in case of an emergency: a beacon, transport, and med-kit."

Kal-El blushed slightly as he muttered, "She's not my mate." But he also smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Father. I truly appreciate all you do for me."

"You're my son, Kal-El," the hologram intoned, as if that were all the explanation needed. Which it was. "Please place your mate in Medical. A comprehensive analysis is required to tailor the solution for best efficacy."

Clark frowned, but did as requested. The words and phrasing was starting to bother him, though he couldn't put his finger on why exactly. He pulled Hope into his arms, making sure to keep the blanket wrapped around her completely, especially her extremities.

As soon as the human female was on the examination bed, Jor-El triggered the pod's lid to pull out of the wall and enclose her form. A green light began to pulse. As it moved over her body, her clothes disintegrated everywhere the light touched. A soft mist puffed right above her head, sedating her for the procedure.

Clark frowned harder, "She's not going to be in there for the full 3 days, is she? Because we both have work in the morning." It was supposed to be a short trip.

Jor-El gave a slight smirk, "No, my son. A comprehensive baseline is all that is required. It will take 2.4 hours."

"Did you really need to get rid of her clothes?" Clark was blushing a deep red as he stared at the ceiling. The roof of the pod went opaque instantly. "Thanks," he muttered grudgingly.

"Disintegration of extraneous material is an automatic process, Kal-El, you know this."

His son nodded reluctantly, sighing. 'Extraneous material' didn't just include clothing, but also any foreign particles, including bacteria, viruses, and any other organisms not beneficial. "Alright, while you do this, I'll go patrol. Signal me when it's time."

+++++HOPEFUL++IDIOT+++++

The hologram watched his counterpart's son disappear through the specialized opening in the ceiling, designed specifically for exiting in a hurry by air. It was unique to this structure, for flying was not usual for Kryptonians on their home planet. It was a side-effect of Earth's yellow sun's radiation upon Kryptonian biology. There were several such design modifications in the structure, all created by the A.I.

The biological Jor-El had been one of Krypton's foremost scientists. He had been the one to discover his planet's inevitable destruction, and he had been the one that the High Council had ignored when the man had pleaded before them to take precautions. In so doing, the Council sealed the fate of all Krypton, and prompted Jor-El to begin planning.

The A.I. idly wondered if Kal-El had ever pondered how perfect everything was to his needs. If the young Kryptonian understood how long it would have taken to ensure such. Both Jor-El and his mate Lara had plotted and planned. It took a great deal of preparation before things were to Jor-El's exacting standards. Several prototypes had been created and destroyed for one reason or another before the A.I.'s current configuration. In fact, the A.I. was the 42nd version of itself before Jor-El and Lara had been satisfied that their son's needs would be met. (After all, the A.I. was the only version of his father than the boy remembered, and thus no reason to second-guess the A.I.'s actions. There was no basis of comparison to create such misgivings.)

Part of that base programming had come online when Kal-El had arrived with a female. Jor-El and Lara had known that with the High Council blocking their warnings, their son would be one of a handful, if not the only, survivor of their society. They had known that the chances of their son choosing a Kryptonian mate were less than 0.000007%, and thus had made special arrangements and subroutines in the A.I.'s programming.

For while it would take a population of at least 50 to prevent inbreeding, more than 500 would be required to reduce genetic drift. In essence, Krypton was dead, with no hope of restarting their species. All biological scientists knew this; Lara instead insisted on what would be required to make her son happy in his years on Earth. Jor-El acknowledged his mate's wisdom in her arguments and capitulated, acquiescing to her demands.

It was these subroutines that were triggered upon Kal-El arriving with the first female he had ever brought to the structure. The first requirement was the A.I. version of Lara Lor-Van to manifest and assess Kal-El's level of attachment to the female. While such was occurring, the main A.I. would do the same with the female. Both assessments were positive in their conclusions, resulting in the next subroutine initializing.

The Fortress of Solitude's A.I. was unable to lie to his charge, but it WAS able to obfuscate and evade; a detail that the A.I. had neglected to inform Kal-El was possible. Of course, up until these circumstances, the possibility had not been required. However, the A.I. determined that if full disclosure occurred, its charge would object, which was against Kal-El best interests.

So it was concluded that obfuscation was necessary and the subroutines allowing such were activated.

The A.I. 'looked' down at its new dependent with its deepest sensors and began to do what Lara Lor-Van had insisted upon those many long ages ago.

The A.I. also wondered if its biological counterpart had a hand in this aspect of his son's future as well. Jor-El had been a master detail-oriented manipulator for his son's future. Even going to such lengths that he chose the Earth family he wanted his son to be reared within. Visiting Earth several times to arrange everything to the scientist's very exacting standards.

After all, the odds were astronomical that the El family emblem and the name of Kal-El's chosen female were only coincidentally identical. It was not in the A.I. database, but that could be for a multitude of reasons. It did not negate the possibility of such expert maneuvering.

+++++HOPEFUL++IDIOT+++++

Hope woke in her bed the next morning, her alarm clock blaring. She rolled out of bed and stretched languidly. She hadn't slept that well in a long time! Then she felt the material against her skin. Forgein material. She looked down and saw a gown she didn't recognize. Silver and white that shimmered to create reds, oranges, and yellows as it reflected the morning light. "Ummm…"

She spun to the bed and saw the same deep blue Kryptonian blanket that had been on top of the pile in Superman's Fortress bed, now spread out over her own. "This…"

She was perfectly comfortable too. Not too hot, nor too cold. The Kryptonian fabrics had done their job beautifully.

Still though… HOW had she changed clothes? Did Clark…?

"Riiight…." Completely against her usual character, Hope Kramer blushed a deep red. Coming to a decision, Hope picked up her cellphone and dialed. "Hello, this is Hope Kramer. Would Martha Kent be available?"

+++++HOPEFUL++IDIOT+++++

 _ **Posted:** 5.14.2020 **Word Count:** ~2k_

 _Thanks so much for the reviews! They made me grin and giggle and write more (as you can see! +wink+). Keep them coming!_


	12. Lois Negotiations

**Hopeful Idiot – Ch11 - Lois** **Negotiations**

It was Wednesday, so there was a nice, long weekend just around the corner. Hope couldn't wait. This week had already been a roller-coaster of emotional stress. What she really wanted was a nice, long hot bath with a glass of wine and a good book. "I wonder if my new blanket will make the water stay hot longer…?"

"What was that?" Clark looked over at Hope as she was installing Lois' new printer. He had been typing up an article on the newest lottery winner.

Hope popped up at grinned at him. "My new blanket—that you aren't getting back, by the way—will it keep bathwater hot longer?"

He blinked at his girlfriend. "Ummm…I honestly have no idea. I've never tried. Theoretically, I suppose so. Though water is an excellent conductor of heat. Between a hot water bath and that particular blanket, you might find yourself roasting." His face was troubled. "Call me when you try, okay? I want to be on hand to keep an eye on you."

Hope's eyebrows went up and her smile widened. "So, what you're saying is that my new boyfriend wants to watch me in the bath?"

Clark immediately went brick red, "That's not what I meant."

"Oh? Who's your new boyfriend, Faith?" Lois Lane's unwanted voice intruded upon their moment.

Hope turned to glare at her almost-doppelganger. "Clark is my new boyfriend. Is that a problem?"

Lois' eyes went wide and she looked between the pair, before settling on Clark. "She knows?"

"Yes, she does," Hope stated coldly. "Though, if I didn't know, you would have just roused my curiosity and thus detrimental to the beginning of a relationship. I'll say it again, you are a terrible friend."

Lois flushed slightly at the statement, "I was just surprised."

Hope snorted, going back to hooking up cords. "You're one of the best, if not the best, reporters I've ever seen. You wouldn't show surprise if a man was killed in front of you, but your desk-mate has a girlfriend and you get flustered. Sure. I believe that. Totally." Her sarcasm deeply evident.

The best reporter sighed, "It does happen. And you have to admit that he's in a caliber all his own."

Hope pulled back and got into Lois' chair to begin the software portion. "Actually, I don't have to admit that, Lois." She sighed, "I'm guessing you don't have any military background, and I'm not talking about getting news for an article. I mean someone you know personally being in the military. They have a very distinguished thinking process, which Clark possesses. He's unique in some ways, yes, but not in the ones that matter the most." She had lowered her voice so that only the three of them could hear her.

Lois looked between the couple and finally nodded, seeing the expression on Kent's face. "I stand corrected."

Clark cleared his throat after several long seconds when Hope didn't reply, "Actually, Lois, we wanted to talk to you. About your relationship with your friend." He paused. "Could we perhaps meet somewhere after work?"

Lois narrowed her eyes, thinking again of the article which had pissed her off so much the day before. "My place after work?"

"Sure Lois, that's fine."

+++++HOPEFUL++IDIOT+++++

"Why is she here?" Lois asked when both Hope and Clark walked into her apartment.

"Because we want to use you as bait. We look really similar and you love the limelight." Hope crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against a wall, doing her best to remain flat at the woman that got her dander up.

"Well, no, not bait per se. A…" Clark floundered.

"A decoy," Lois provided.

"Yes, a decoy."

"In exchange for what? You went and gave an exclusive to some stupid reporter and now you want my help?" Lois glared at him.

Hope hissed between her teeth. She'd known the woman would use this to her advantage. "What do you want?"

Lois looked at Clark, who still seemed sheepish. He didn't know how to react to two women fighting over him. "Exclusivity. Permanently."

Clark nodded, "I can agree to that." He'd already been expecting something similar, based on Lois' yelling (as well as Hope's yelling) the day before.

"Anything else?" Hope asked.

Lois looked between them. She was an excellent investigative journalist and she knew what she saw. The pair had formed a strong connection relatively quickly. She wouldn't break them up. Even Superman deserved happiness. Their expressions when they looked at each other were almost enough to give Lois a kind of jealous nostalgia. Lois sighed and shook her head. "No, nothing else." She paused as she thought things through. "Though…"

"Oh crap, here we go." Hope threw up her hands in annoyance. "What do you want?"

Lois took a calming breath. She knew the situation, and she knew the I.T. woman's personality enough that she was reasonably sure that most of the anger wasn't actually directed at Lois particularly, but at the situation she was forced into. It was a righteous anger; worry for Clark. "I was just thinking that if you want to sell this idea best, Superman would have to save me more. I do tend to get into difficult scenarios." She shrugged, not apologizing for how she made money. It made her happy. She'd made peace with that a long time ago. "Like rescuing me from the helicopter…and the thing with Zod. If you do that a couple more times, people will make the connection themselves without any more prompting. You'd be in the clear."

Hope tilted her head, "That's…actually not a bad idea."

Clark frowned, "Superman saved you because you needed it. Not because you're Lois Lane."

"We know that, but most people are morons, Clark." Hope explained. "It won't occur to them that Superman saves Lois more because she has a higher tendency to get into dangerous situations. They'll think Superman saves Lois more because he likes her. Correlation, not causation. But most don't understand that simple principle."

Lois nodded, "She's right."

"Another thing is that I actually live in this building. Just a couple balconies down," Hope gestured to the floor. "Thus—"

Lois nodded again, already making the connection. "Superman can visit you and people will think he's with me. Clever."

"It…doesn't bother you?" Clark asked hesitantly.

Lois shook her head, raising an eyebrow at him as if he were being dim. "Clark, you know as well as I do that reporters protect their sources. Usually in return for money, but exclusivity and protecting will do just fine. It's fair," she sighed, "and as your friend, I want you to be happy." _Even if it isn't with me._

"So, just to be clear," Hope expounded, "I get to openly date Clark. Superman keeps saving you, and you act as my doppleganger to any interested parties."

Lois nodded, "I'm a failsafe. Hopefully it'll never be needed."

Clark was looking ill at all this talk of his friend being in danger, but also knew that it was in Lane's nature. In reality, this deal wasn't preventing her from going into danger any more than his pleading. Instead, it was providing her with an extra safety net. "I think I'll talk to Father about getting you an emergency beacon too."

"Too?" Hope raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk on her lips.

"He's got several things in the works for you," he nodded sheepishly. "I just figured a beacon to signal she was in trouble would be a good idea."

Hope gave a laugh, leaning in to kiss him on his cheek. "I think it's a wonderful idea." She looked over at Lois. "We all good?"

Lois nodded.

"Good," Hope looked back at her boyfriend. "I called your mother today for her pie recipe. You can have a piece or three while watching me take a bath."

"I like the sound of that," Clark began to escort her to the door. He was in the process of closing the door when he froze. "Wait, you called my mother?"

Hope laughed, "Well, I woke up in a different outfit than what I went to sleep in. Who else was I going to call?"

A pause. _"You called my MOTHER?!"_

+++++HOPEFUL++IDIOT+++++

 **AN:** Okay, I'm estimating that 'Dawn of Justice' took about 2 years from start to finish. So, I've got some time to poke about. For the Hopeful Idiot pair, we're at about 1 year after the end of 'Man of Steel'.

Batman shows up after ~1.25yrs. Young Lex starts more actively manipulating things at ~1.5yrs. In the meantime, I'll mess about with the Reeves' movies, and perhaps the Nolan ones, now that everyone seems to really want Wayne in the mix. ^_^ We'll see what I can come up with.

Please review. I know its not perfect, but I love to see what you think of how things are going. Suggestions are welcome!


	13. Headboards

**Hopeful Idiot – Chapter 12 - Headboards**

 **Wednesday Night**

Hope settled into the bath, blanket draped carefully over half of the cast-iron tub, in such a way that it could be quickly yanked off and she could be quickly extracted. Just in case. She had a book and a large glass of Pink Moscato within reach.

But even before she got into the bath, her mind was swirling. Knowing that she might not be able to get through this conversation without some help, she quickly drank about a third of the glass. Then she refilled it, and settled into the water. "Mmmmm…" she moaned softly as the heat seemed to go straight into her bones.

"Hope? Are you alright? Is it too hot?" Clark's voice was filled with worried fretfulness. He'd made himself as comfortable as his anxiety would let him on the end of her couch. He'd earlier assured her that he wouldn't be looking at her with more than his heat-sensitive vision. Especially since Hope insisted that if he was that worried about things, she'd leave the bathroom door open.

"Add 'learn different noises your girlfriend makes' to the list," Hope said at a normal volume, knowing he would hear her easily. "That wasn't a bad sound. That was a 'Hope is about to melt from happiness' sound."

Clark grinned in relief, then wondered, "What list?"

"The List of Things to Learn About Being a Boyfriend."

A pause. "Is there such a list?"

"Written down? I have no idea. You could write it yourself." She downed another third of her wine as she stared at the ceiling, wondering how to bring up the subject that was bothering her most. "Call it the _Guide to Lasting Marriage_ or something. You'd make a mint."

Another, longer pause. "Marriage?" he asked quietly, almost out of her hearing range.

Hope sighed. That was as good a way to Segway into what she needed to say to him as anything else. "I spoke with your mother." She took another mouthful of wine.

"What did you two talk about?" Clark asked solemnly, then tried to lighten the mood slightly, "Other than her secret pie recipe?"

Hope chuckled on cue, but her somber tone didn't change. "You called me ' _your_ Hope' and you took me to see your parents. That's…that's not insignificant to me. Doesn't seem insignificant to you either. So I called your mother, partly to see about how much experience you have with girls. Partly to see how genuine you might be. I…" she paused. "I need to know how serious you are about us, Clark. Because I…I don't think I can take another heartbreak." Her voice had gotten quieter and quieter until it was a bare whisper.

There was a rustle and she looked over to see Clark in the doorway. He still wasn't looking at her, respecting her privacy by staring at the doorframe, but he slid down the doorframe while she watched him so that, once he was firmly sitting on the floor, he could look over at her. Those deep cerulean blue orbs staring into her own green-hazel. Those eyes that saw too much. Filled with compassion and understanding. "Tell me," he said gently.

Hope shook her head. "Not yet. Maybe not ever. Suffice to say that I've been hurt. A lot. My longest relationship lasted 8 months before I discovered that he was not only married, but had three sons." Clark grimaced in disgust. "I'm not a cynic for no reason, Clark." She drained her wine glass. Her eyes were fighting tears as she looked over at him for a split second before refocusing on the ceiling. "I don't trust easily." A pause. "Not anymore," she whispered.

She swallowed, "So I need to know, Clark. I need to know how serious this is for you. I need to know if this is just a Friends-With-Benefits thing. Or do you want to make a real go of this boyfriend/girlfriend thing? Are you dating me? Or courting me? The way your dad talked it was practically an arranged marriage or something else. Or is this just a lark? A fling? I need to know, Clark. Please—"

"I understand," his hand caught hers, halting her words with the small gesture as if he'd hit a switch. It was the closest he'd ever heard her beg. The most emotion, true deep emotion that he'd heard from her since her rant the day before.

"I haven't loved many women in my life. My high-school sweetheart was Lana Lang, but she never seemed to realize I existed." Clark's voice was wry. "You weren't far off with making me part of the chess team. I am quite the nerd, you know. Far too beneath Lana…but when the time came, I was more interested in her happiness than my own." He took a deep breath, his own emotions close to the surface. "I was infatuated with Lois for a time, but your words all those months ago made me realize that you were right. I was more in love with the idea of being in love, than in Lois herself." He took another deep breath. "You are the first woman to see me, Hope. To truly see me for who I am; to care about what was best for me and not what I could do for you. You…there's no one quite like you that I've ever met. Yes, Hope, I'm very serious about giving this a try. I suppose you could call it courting, but I wasn't going to jump the gun and say it. I didn't want to scare you off."

Hope gave a very snorted laugh. "Scare _me_ off? I thought I'd scare _you_ off."

Clark looked at her, his face serious. "I don't react well to lying or betrayal. Two of my best friends betrayed me and I forgave them, then they did it again, and I forgave them again. Then it happened again. I…" his voice trailed off as he sighed.

"That's perfectly understandable," Hope nodded. "And I'll do my best to not lie to you…unless its for an insanely good reason that I will fully explain later. Or I'm teasing. Or being sarcastic. But tonality should make those last two obvious."

Clark was grinning by the time she stopped rambling. "Deal." He paused, "Anything else we need to discuss tonight?"

Hope sucked in her lips, "Yes…but I'm not sure we want to talk about it now, given the seriousness of things. Too much for one night?"

"Isn't it better to get it all out in the open?"

"Fine." Hope took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye, and asked, "Are you a virgin?" When he turned a bright red, but only sputtered, she continued, "That was the other reason I called your mother. I mean, you aren't called the Man of Steel for nothing. She confirmed you had problems with your crotch seams in high school when puberty hit. But you also don't seem to have those problems now. So your control must be insane. However, your also the Man of Steel, so intimate relations may be more than a little difficult for you—"

"Stop!" Clark was brick red. "Please, for the love of Rao himself, stop." He leaned over, grabbed the bottle of wine, and took several large swallows. He took a deep breath, then another two swallows. Then another breath. Finally, he spoke again. "Rao!" he muttered before continuing louder, "There was an incident with Red Kryptonite when I was a teen that resulted in a summer of bad decisions. So no, I'm not a virgin. But…" He took another swig of wine. "I did hurt several girls the first week or so. It wasn't anything that didn't heal…eventually." His eyes were haunted at memories. "I did learn enough control after the fifth that I didn't hurt them anymore…unless I wanted to." He drained the bottle. "I haven't been with another sexual partner since the Red Kryptonite was out of my system."

Hope's heart hurt for him. She could hear the pain in his voice as he spoke. How much it still hurt him what he had done. "What's Kryptonite?" she asked instead, redirecting the conversation.

He gave her a half-smile, knowing exactly what she was doing, but went with it anyway. "When my planet, Krypton, blew up, it irradiated and distributed pieces of the planet itself. The most common variety is green, which decreases my powers and make me feel very ill. Given enough exposure, it will kill me. Red Kryptonite doesn't make me ill, but it effects my brain chemistry in a similar way to massive amounts of alcohol does to humans."

"Lowers your inhibitions. Lack of impulse control." Hope interpreted.

"Exactly. The school rings were made with it when the manufacturer discovered a sizable chunk of the stuff, thus they were cheaper to produce. Fine for everyone else. Not so much for me." He didn't mention that one of the betrayals was a friend purposefully infecting him with Red Kryptonite months later. It was one of the last straws. He had begun to be much more wary. After all, if his best friend could do that to him, what would a stranger, who had even less qualms about harming him, do?

"How many colors are there? How many people know about your allergy? Does anything stop it?"

"Several, to both questions. The one you have to really watch out for is Lex Luthor. He's…very dangerous. And the reporter was right, lead blocks most of my visual abilities. It also blocks Kryptonite radiation."

Hope nodded, realizing exactly how much he was trusting her. He was giving her the knowledge necessary to kill him. Was trusting her to keep it to herself. This was another stage of their relationship. This was a way he was trying to even things out between them. She was trusting him with her heart. He was trusting her with his life. She nodded firmly, "Okay." With another decisive nod, she stood up in her bath, pulling a towel off and began to dry.

"Done already?"

"It's been long enough the water is getting cold." She glanced at the clock, "The blanket did make it last longer than usual though. Good to know."

He smiled, his eyes closed as he very carefully didn't move so as not to get in her way and not to peek. "So now what?"

"Now?" Hope finished drying off and sent him a smirk. "Now, we are going to play a game." She noticed his closed eyes and grinned wider, "You can look."

His eyes opened, then his whole form froze. For she was standing before him and slightly to one side, nude. "Game?" his voice was two octaves too high.

"Yup! You are going to get undressed, get on the bed, wrap your hands around my headboard, and do your best not to move."

"I will?" He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving her breasts, until they traveled to her nether region. "What will you be doing?"

"I'm going to be testing your level of control due to a lack of practice in the realm of sexual experience."

" _What?"_

Hope smiled at him, leaning down to tilt his chin up to look her in the eye, "I'm going to give you several orgasms in various ways." Then an expression of her own anxiety crossed her features. "Unless you don't want to. Is this too much? This is too much. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

He stopped her flow of words with a kiss, full mouth-on-mouth, his tongue tangling with hers; as if he were trying to taste her from the inside out. "It's not too much. But don't let me hurt you, Hope. Please…I'm begging you. Please, don't let me hurt you."

She pulled back and her smile was back. The smile that he was starting to label 'Hope's Evil Grin'. "That's why you'll be holding my headboard. When you stop breaking it, I'll know I can up the game a bit. Also why I'm going to be on top."

Clark swallowed hard, but very willingly followed her to the bedroom.

"I'm thinking we'll start with a handjob."

Clark whimpered. He didn't know if he was doing so out of happiness or terror.

"Then maybe I could sit on your face." Perhaps both.

"Then I could try giving you a blowjob." Oh yes, definitely both.

Ecstatic terror really did describe it well.

 **Thursday Mid-Morning**

"Ummm…Lois?" Clark asked.

The reporter looked over at her friend and blinked. The man looked simultaneously the most relaxed she'd ever seen him, while also blushing the most she'd ever seen. "Clark? What's wrong?"

"Where might someone…buy a new headboard?"

Lois blinked, but before she could respond, there came loud stomping. She looked over at the I.T. specialist. "What's wrong with you?"

"Apparently, I don't have enough work to do. They are sending me to a conference in California." Hope growled, "Lord only know how much work will be waiting for me when I get back."

"Oh," Lois blinked again. "I'm sorry?" It was definitely a query. Lois was much more used to traveling every month or two. It wasn't that big a deal for her.

"When is the conference?" Clark asked, all concerned worry.

Hope sighed. "Next week in San Francisco. I'll be gone at least three days: Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Fly back on Sunday." She visibly shook herself, trying to shake off the bad mood. Grinned at Clark, "Care ta take a lady to lunch?"

Clark's smile matched hers, "I'd be honored."

Lois smiled too, though hers was more strained. "And you can tell him about where to buy headboards while you're out."

Hope blinked over at the reporter, then her smile grew and grew until it spread across her entire face. She spun around, grabbed Clark by the lapels of his jacket, and pulled him in for a deep kiss. There were quite a few wolf whistles before she shifted away, Clark obviously reluctant to release her. "Don't worry. We'll use a bedside table until you get better. Box-springs are just as comfy resting on the floor."

Perry White had come out of his office to see what the catcalls had been about. Even he was reluctant to make them knock it off. "Well, seems the two nerds got together," he muttered. "Good for them." Then louder, "Alright people, show's over. Back to work!" Hasty shuffling as the bullpen tried to look as if they had been busy all along. "Kramer! Kent!" The pair looked at the Editor in Chief questioningly. "Take a long lunch," he smirked at them. What could he say? He was an asshole, but he wasn't heartless. "And congratulations."

"Thanks, Mr. White!" Kent called out as they grinned and practically chased each other out.

 **Friday Evening**

Kal-El flew into the Fortress of Solitude. "Father? Is the serum ready?"

Jor-El flickered into existence. Since a project had been working, his program had been left running. "Indeed."

"Oh."

Jor-El raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, my son?"

"I just…was wondering…" he blushed pink, "Could you make something similar that would make Hope… Make her more… Or…or less breakable? I don't want to hurt her." His voice was quiet as he admitted the last.

The A.I. ran several logic streams to determine the most likely cause of his ward's remark. It took less than a nanosecond to arrive at a conclusion, "Are you referring to her durability in regards to sexual intercourse?"

Kal blushed brighter, but nodded.

"Such was already taken into account, my son." He gestured and a drawer opened in the nearest wall, presenting with several items. "There is the solution; its delivery mechanism is already prepared and ready for injection. The emergency distress signal is beside it. It is designed to send out a piercing frequency which only you will be able to hear; within 1500 miles if you concentrate, though 500 miles is more realistic. The far-most box is a basic medical kit, designed specifically for your mate's physiology. It will keep her stabile under even the most extreme conditions, until you can bring her here. The last is a locator beacon; one in which can locate your mate from anywhere on the globe."

Kal-El nodded and gathered the items, stashing them into his cloak. (There were several such hideaway areas in his costume.) "Can you make a second set of the last three?"

"Of course. Such are already available." Jor gestured again and a second panel opened, "May I inquire as to why you want them? Backup copies perhaps? Human weapons can't destroy them."

"I made a deal with Lois. To help keep Hope as safe as possible. She plays decoy. Makes the world believe that I love her, and in return, Superman saves her whenever she needs it on her investigations."

"Acknowledged," the A.I. filed away the information. "Now, the solution is most effective if administered in the next six hours. Please do so."

"Of course, but before I go…" Kal was blushing again.

"Yes, my son?"

"Can you give me a sex primer as it pertains to a female human and male Kryptonian?"

Jor-El's hologram didn't so much as twitch; though he really wanted to, he did not allow his fierce joyous satisfaction to show. "Of course, my son. First, you must remember that humans are very fragile in certain ways, but not in others. For example…"

+++++HOPEFUL++IDIOT+++++

 **Posted:** 5.18.2020 **Wordcount:** ~3k

 _Next update will take me a bit. I'm delving into Reeves' movies. So please tell me your thoughts._ _I know it isn't perfect, but I'd love to hear what you think._


	14. Tiny Brown Bats

**Hopeful Idiot – Chapter 14 Bats are Brown and Tiny**

 **MAKE SURE YOU READ NEW CHAPTER 13!**

"What?" Hope saw the news broadcast of a new vigilante in Gotham. The man – for only a man would be this stupid – was dressing up as a bat. Well, that's what he called himself (according to the criminals he put away). Batman.

Personally, Hope thought the very blurry picture was probably the only way the guy _could_ look like a bat. Really, it was only because the picture had been taken while the man was descending through the air. Thus his cape was fully spread, maximizing the effect of the scalloped bottom. The cape and the horns on the headpiece were the only things that made it look even vaguely bat-like. "Bats are brown, dumbass," Hope muttered to herself. Well, that she knew of. Bats _were_ nocturnal, so he got that right. (Batman was only active during the nightlife, apparently.) A quick search made her roll her eyes. "Dark brown, brown, and gray. Not black. And bats are **tiny**!" It was the only way a mammal could fly without having the hollow bones that birds did. Tiny and with a massive wing span (in relation to its body size). "Largest bat is four pounds, but he's weird. Average is less than half a pound. Heck, the most common bat on this continent weighs half an ounce!"

Even as Hope was mentally listing even more reasons why this newest costumed crusader should be calling himself something else, the news report rolled and she saw a large black bat-themed (or it was supposed to be) CAR zoom down the freeway, easily dodging other vehicles. Hope's eyes were wide as she saw this, then she put her head on her desk and proceeded to groan in disgusted frustration.

"Hope?" Clark asked with concern. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at her boyfriend, the first caped crusader, and asked plaintively, "Is there a rule I don't know about that wearing spandex reduces your I.Q.?"

He blinked, "What? Why would you think—"

She pointed at the television screen. Her hands came up in the classic gesture meant to appeal to a deity. "I mean, seriously?! Really? _Really?!"_

Superman cocked his head to the side as he watched the recording. "Ummm…I don't get it."

Hope spun around and narrowed her eyes at him, contemplating if he was serious or trying to tease her. Nope, that was his genuinely confused face. She bared her teeth in a parody of a smile, "How much you want to bet I can find out who he is inside an hour?"

"That's not fair. You can find anyone you want in that time frame." He'd seen her do it too. It had taken her less than five hours to hack into several government databased, 'kill' him, create him an entire new identity, _and_ remove all proof of the two ever being the same person.

"Fine," she studied the television for several minutes and he had begun to think she was going to drop the subject. However, a shaking cellphone camera had gotten a closer angle of this Batman. Even while the shaking was horrible, the viewer could still make out some details. Hope's smile was full of teeth, "Less than _ten_ minutes. Make me an offer."

Clark sighed, knowing she wouldn't let it go. Might as well have some fun with things, "Alright. Whoever loses gets the other a present."

Her grin widened and became more genuine. "Deal!" Even as she agreed, she hopped over to her desk and grabbed her laptop. With a flick of her wrist, it was open and with only a couple punched keys, she pulled up a digital stopwatch. "Aaand, go!" The timer began, and her fingers raced over the keys. Multiple windows pulling up, then discarded as she searched for criteria.

As he watched her, he pondered, "How will we know if you are correct?"

"Well, if he's anything like _you_ , it'll be obvious once I've got him," she bit her bottom lip slightly in concentration. The clock ticked to three minutes when her eyes narrowed as she thought she saw a connection. "Though, if you want to, I can do the same to him that I did to you." She shot him a conspiratorial smile, eyes blazing with mischief. "If he's innocent, he'll blow me off." Her laptop let out a beep and she crowed in triumph.

"You got him?" The timer was only at 5.36 minutes! He blinked at the picture. _"Him?"_

"I think so. To confirm…" her voice trailed off as she focused.

"That's a bank. You hacked into a _bank_."

"I'm not hacking it to get customer information or laundering money or anything else nefarious," she protested, "I'm just looking at his transactions!"

" _Hope…"_ he sighed in resignation. It was an incredibly good thing that Hope Kramer had no aspirations to become a villain. With her technical skills, she would be able to grind the entire planet's electronics to a halt overnight. Money made the world function and she had just proven she could get around the security of one of the largest banks in the world.

"Got him! Ha! And I say again, HA!" She crowed in delight, pointing at the large orders of some very unusual products. "If he isn't Batman, I'll eat my hat!"

"You don't wear a hat," Clark answered absently as he looked at the list of expenditures. He blinked. It was pretty obvious, even to him. "Bruce Wayne is Batman."

"Yup!" She grinned happily, casually reaching forward to stop the digital clock at 9 minutes, 23 seconds. She crossed her arms, her face beaming. "Less than ten minutes and that _includes_ my time for triumphant shouts," she said smugly. "I. Win." Then she burst into riotous laughter.

Clark shook his head at her antics, his own smile half weary, half indulgent. He let out a short breath, "Since you already confirmed it's him, now what?"

Her smile stayed, now with an edge that he couldn't quite identify. "Same thing that I did to you, of course. Why should he get special treatment?" She pulled up an email window and began to type.

He read over her shoulder. "'Dear Dumbass'? Hope… Must you?" he sighed.

"Oh, I must. I really must!" she leaned up to kiss him before returning to her computer.

"I'm going to patrol," he shook his head as he left, her maniacal laughter still ringing through the apartment. It really was a very, very, _very_ good thing that his love had no plans for mass mayhem or world domination. With her technical skills and sheer force of personality, she would be able to match any government, he had no doubt.

* * *

 _Now part of the official overall plotline! Also now in chronological order to the rest._

 _So please tell me what you think, but please don't be too harsh. I know its not perfect._


	15. Batty Email

**Hopeful Idiot**

 **Chapter 15 : Batty Email**

 _To: BWayne at WayneEnterprises . net  
_ _From: Resinded at You_reAMoron . edu  
_ _Heading: NSFW – It Only Took Me Six Minutes!_

Dear Dumbass,

Seriously, less than six minutes to figure out who you were using only conventional means. Less than ten to confirm. You, sir, are a dumbass of epic proportions. So, let's make a list, shall we?

I) Identification

To give credit where it's due, other than your jawline, you went to a great deal of trouble to conceal your physical identity. Kudos. However, the rest of it was so neglected that it's laughable. Shall I explain?

You are out practically every night as Batman. Which means you must sleep late. Not many jobs allow such, thus leading to the conclusion that you have other means of making money or have an inheritance that you are leeching from.

You use gadgets and physical expertise to subdue. Meaning that you don't have superpowers like Superman. Meaning human. That stupid custom-created suit of yours, along with the many gadgets, means a LOT of money. That damned **car** means a SHIT LOAD of money! Which narrowed down my search to only Fortune 500 companies. Not too many of those in Gotham.

Limit the search to single males under the age of 40—no one can move like you do and be out of their prime; single because no married partner would allow the one they love to go out every night beating up criminals, thus leaving no family time—and I had a list of eight. Five of which were under the age of 20. It takes time to learn martial arts to the degree of expertise you've shown. Several years of nothing but training. Which brought me to one. You.

None of the three left has been documented as trained in any martial arts (though all trained in strategy, handling of firearms, and one is a fencer). However, you disappeared for seven years. Plenty of time to study, learn, and master any subject, including _several_ martial arts disciplines. Especially if that was all you were doing in those seven years.

Took me 5 minutes, 36 seconds to identify Bruce Wayne as Batman.

II) You're a Dumb Asshole

That shiny VERY custom car of yours had to be over $10 million. I'm guessing, but based on other custom cars, it seems a fair number. (Actually, over $15 million is more accurate, but I thought a nice round number would make you seem less of an asshole.)

Do you have any idea how many people you could be helping with $10 million? _**Thousands.**_

You have decided that it's easier and better to beat up dozens of criminals, sending them to jail, instead of using that same amount of money to help thousands of people. You're an Ass. And in case you think I'm being metaphoric, or hypothetical, let me list some possibilities…

A) Social Workers

Last month in Gotham, a 13yo male with cerebral palsy died at home, in his own bed, of neglect. Dehydrated, starved, with suppurating sores over more than 50% of his body. Nine people were indicted in his death, including both parents, three homecare workers, and the social worker assigned to his case, who hadn't paid a visit in person in 18 months, and her supervisor, who ordered the falsification of records to cover up their mistake. The boy weighed less than 42 pounds when he died.

The boy's case worker saw over 50 children, when in Gotham the maximum number is supposed to be 20. The starting salary for a newly-hired, just-out-of-college social worker is $32,000 per annum. Taking $5,000,000 of your car's price, that's 156 new social workers salaries for one year.

B) Meal Program

Many children go without meals because their parents can't afford it. There was a meal program in Gotham, but it was discontinued due to lack of funding. One child, for let's say lunch for easy numbers, can be given a healthy sandwich for less than $1.26 per meal, per child. (Admittedly, I got these numbers from my grocery store prices of lunch meat, cheese, mustard, and bread, then divided based on how many sandwiches I could make from those single items. Buying in bulk would greatly reduce all these numbers. So probably $1 per child, per meal is more accurate.) Fortunately water is free, right? Wrong, but it is cheaper than milk. Trying to work with easy numbers here. Thus, taking another $3 million of that car, at the non-reduced price of $1.26 per child per meal, that's 2,380,952 sandwiches. Divide by 365 for a year-long program, and we get 6,523 children fed a healthy lunch at least once per day for an entire year.

C) Scholarships

Okay, so we're working with $2 million left. If you set out a generous $100,000 per scholarship, that's 20 people who have gone to college, gotten jobs, and become productive members of society. Per year.

Given the psychology that most people go back to what they know, that's 20 people per year coming back to Gotham, improving it. Doctors, nurses, lawyers, social workers, chemists, engineers, et cetera.

Heck, decrease the scholarships to $1.5 million (that's still 15 people per year!), and use the other $500,000 to fund and promote trade programs. Electricians, plumbers, cooks, etc. Trade professions are the backbone of any society, promoting morale in small ways, but just as important for the everyday wellfair of any large populace. Costs less than $10,000 per full course of on-the-job training, which usually lasts 2 years. So that's $5000 per year. So that's 500,000/5,000 = 100 new trade professionals per year.

But sure, you go ahead and buy that stupid bat-themed car, with all its bells and whistles. Crash it. Pay to repair it. Again. And again. And again…

And You Wondered Why I Called You a Dumb Asshole,

Sincerely Hoping That You Learned Something

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

"Son?" Jor-El blinked curiously at his charge.

Clark sighed, but not unhappily. More disgruntled. "What should I get Hope as a present?"

If it was any generic girl, Jor-El's suggestion would've been very different. As it was, the A.I. gave a small smile. "There is something in storage that I think she will enjoy." A panel slid out of the wall of Medical and immediately was transported via beam to a previously-hidden dome module that had silently slid up from the floor.

Clark blinked, "That's a genetic incubator. She doesn't even have house plants, Father. She likes computers…and showing off."

A genetic incubator was designed to rehydrate and grow genetic samples. The Fortress had millions of genetic samples on file, just on the off chance that a suitable planet was ever found to re-start Krypton. It was a very, very, VERY slim chance, but the possibility existed and Jor-El wanted the possibility if such ever did occur.

As if to answer his non-question, the dome cleared to show off the sample that was currently being grown. Clark's head tilted as he stepped closer. It was obviously an animal, not a plant as he'd first thought. Five stubs, which were probably four legs and a tail, clearly indicated a fauna-type. He looked over at the drawer the sample had come from and blinked. "The Kryptonian version are much smarter than the Terran variety. It'd be more of a companion than a pet. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Jor-El gave him a rather large indulgent smile. "I gave one to your mother as the first courting gift. Trust me, my son. It's perfect."

"And you've taken into account that Earth customs aren't Kryptonian?" The A.I. blinked. Clark opened his mouth to object, then noticed that the small animal had kicked in its sleep. It was already too late. This little one was being grown and it would be born. It would be too cruel to kill it now. He didn't have the heart. He sighed. "Guess Hope is getting a puppy."

Maybe that would increase her mood. When she had first started typing, she was in a great mood, but the more she typed, the worse it got. By the time she was finished and sent it, Hope was more angry than he had ever seen her. She had cuddled up to him, his arms around her, and trembled. Though they hadn't fallen, he had smelled the tears. _"Sometimes, Clark, I hate math. I hate it when I'm right. It would be so easy to fix some things…if only they'd listen…"_

Yes, a puppy might be a good thing. He'd train it correctly, to guard and protect his Hope. And she'd have something to cuddle and hug when he couldn't be around.

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

 _Okay, lots of you wanted the actual email Hope sent him. This chapter was greatly inspired by "Can't Get You Out of My Head" by J-Horror Girl [specifically chapter 6] If you haven't read it, I highly recommend._

 **Posted:** 6.11.2020

 _Please tell me what you think, but please don't be too harsh. I know it's not perfect._


	16. Beds, Bats, Pups

**Hopeful Idiot**

 **Chapter 15: Beds, Bats, and Pups**

 _ **So sorry! Wrong version posted previously… Ooopsie…. Here's the real one.**_

There was a dull thud.

"Damnit!" Hope's loud curse echoed through the apartment.

Clark, having taken his girlfriend's command of 'learn my noises' to heart, paused in his fixing dinner, but didn't move from his position. He just waited. Either his Hope would come in and explain (amidst expletives) just what had annoyed her, or she wouldn't.

"Idiot!"

Or perhaps she would do something new…

" _Clark!"_ her tone had a strange tone.

Considering that was a second call for him—using his name of all things?!—in less than one second, Clark was in the doorway in the next instant, and immediately saw the problem. He sped to her side and lifted the box spring mattress that had apparently slipped from her grip and landed on her foot. "Where do you want it?" he asked kindly.

"By the door," she hissed between clenched teeth. "No, the _front_ door," she corrected.

"Why were you doing this barefoot?" Why was she doing it at all was a better question. Or why hadn't she just asked, and then let him do the heavy lifting?

"Because I'm an idiot," she growled. She was now sitting on the floor, her injured foot in her hands, glaring down at it as if her dropping the mattress had been its fault.

Clark chuckled, "You're not an idiot." And she wasn't. But he found it amusing and endearing at where her intelligence ended and she did something either immature or impulsive. Though sometimes it was rather nerve-wracking. Like when she decided to go to a convenience store at 11 at night because she'd let her cabinets deplete of food because she hated shopping.

Needless to say, in their two months of officially dating, Clark had made it one of his priorities to never let her cabinets completely empty of food.

"So, are we moving the bed to the living room?" he asked gently.

"No, we're getting a bigger bed," she replied sullenly, still massaging her foot.

He blinked. "A bigger bed?"

Hope looked up at him from her floor position, then grinned slightly at his stunned expression. "Yes, Idiot. Two people need at least a queen-size bed. Don't you think?"

Clark's face slowly spread with a large grin at the implications. "Sounds like a wonderful idea."

"I do have them now and then."

"Though—"

"Now what?"

"—why didn't you just ask me to move the bed? Let me do the heavy lifting?" Heavy lifting for her, which was less than a feather to him. And if the bed fell, it wouldn't injure him in the slightest.

"Because it was supposed to be a surprise, Idiot." She sighed, "So much for that idea."

He lifted her to her feet and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly. When they finally came back up for some air, he whispered into her hair, "It's a wonderful surprise."

She giggled breathlessly, "It should be delivered in about a half hour."

He gave a playful growl, "Not enough time."

"Well, we'll need to christen the new bed properly after its set up."

"I love how you think."

As if in answer to their desire, there was a knock on the front door. Clark groaned in exasperation, but obediently stepped away. "You deal with dinner, I'll deal with the bed." It wasn't as if he'd be able to think of much of anything else until after his inner flame was fed.

"Sounds good," she nodded, "they are also supposed to take away the old bed." As she walked away, he noted with a hidden smirk that she didn't limp.

When the old bed was removed, the new bed set up and dressed, Clark came back to the kitchen to find that the veggies had been cut and the stew was all set to simmer for awhile. He grinned triumphantly and went to find his mate—girlfriend! He meant girlfriend.

Hope was on her computer, which was not unusual. She was also frowning. Also not unusual. She heard him approach and glanced to the side once before gesturing. "My old almost-boss sent me an email telling me to stay out of Gotham."

"Your almost-boss?" Clark asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, he wanted me to work for him fulltime, but after a thorough background search, I decided that I didn't share his…goals, so I declined. We've kept vaguely in touch. I do the odd job for him here and there. It pays well. He's not a bad guy in general. I mean, he IS an asshole, but he's just…" she trailed off, not able to fully verbalize how she thought of the man. "His heart's in the right place. I can understand his logic. It's just…" she trailed off again, still searching for how to explain.

Clark frowned, "Is he dangerous?"

Hope gave a single sharp laugh, "Hell yes!" Then she sobered, "But not to me. He's dangerous in the same way that a lawyer is dangerous." She thought for a second, "No, more like how the governor is dangerous."

Clark nodded slowly, "Not him specifically, but the trouble he can bring with him, or that he is in charge of dangerous people."

"Yes," she nodded again. "He just sees the world extremely black-and-white, while I think its more of thousands of shades of grays. Irony is that we do get along rather well." She grinned, "Debating with him is insanely fun."

"Who is he?" Anyone who got to her this much, a _male_ someone, Clark wanted to know about him.

"Ra's al Ghul," she pointed to the screen where the signature was with a reprimanding raised eyebrow; her tone telling him to pay more attention.

"Never heard of him."

"Not surprised. The guy likes to stick to the shadows. Pulling strings from behind the curtain, that sort of thing."

"And he's telling you to stay out of Gotham."

Hope frowned again unhappily, "Yeah. That's not like him. We meet for lunch sometimes when he's in town. Like I said, talking with him is all sorts of fun. But he's never sent me something like this before. And he's not the kind of guy who says unimportant things. He also doesn't lie. He obfuscates, evades, and redirects, but he doesn't outright lie."

Clark thought about what she said for long moments. Despite his nickname, Clark wasn't an idiot. "The biggest thing that's changed in Gotham lately is Batman. Maybe this Ra's doesn't like him."

Hope blinked, then slowly nodded her agreement. "Yeah, that makes sense. Ra's is more of a win-the-war type of guy than Batman's win-the-fight. He's kind like Ender Wiggin that way."

Clark blinked, not sure how to take that comment. Though he did decide that whoever this Ra's was, if/when Clark ever met him, he would be very wary. He didn't like how Hope spoke of him. At the very least, she wasn't insulting Ra's' intelligence. Did she _like_ him? A sharp stab of jealousy slammed through his chest. So much so that he actually staggered back a single step.

Thankfully, Hope didn't notice his backstep as unusual, and just kept going. "Oh, and apparently Mr. White wants me to go with Lois for this next story of hers. Something about making sure the woman has a signal in butt-fuck nowhere of desert." Hope sighed, "I'm travelling waaay more than I thought I would for an I.T. job."

"Not that much," he countered.

"Twice in two months? That's a lot!" He grinned at her. It certainly wasn't as much as he did. Which she knew. She glared at him, "Oooh, hush." He laughed softly, leaning down to kiss her again. Just as his lips were about to brush hers, a soft chime announced another email. "Damnit, why can't they leave us alone for an hour?" Another kiss. "Or two?" Kiss. "Or three…" The timer dinged from the kitchen. "Damnit! It's a conspiracy," she grumbled.

He laughed and turned, "I'll handle the stew, you handle the email."

"Fine," she grumbled. He laughed again.

However, when she saw the email that was waiting for her, she blinked. "Seriously? This has got to be a conspiracy."

"What is it?" he called from the kitchen.

"Batman replied."

"Oh," a pause, "well, what'd he say?"

She shrugged and clicked the email. Then began to curse, her fingers flying on the keys. "What the hell?!" Seems that Bruce Wayne was a computer geek. He'd sent her a virus with the intention of tracking her computer, hacking it, and finding out who she was. "Oh, no, you don't. Not on my system, you dumbass piece of shit," she growled.

"Anything I can do?" Clark asked quietly by her shoulder.

"Shut up and get the food."

He nodded, knowing she didn't mean the words how they sounded. She got this way sometimes with a big problem. Her tone was curt, even hurtful, but she didn't mean it. She just needed space to do what she needed to do. The woman certainly wasn't perfect…but she just might be perfect for him. Her flaws made her that much more in his eyes. No perfect person was able to be a partner, because no one could live up to that standard. Hope had plenty of flaws. Fortunately for him, they seemed to balance his own.

"You want to play?" She hissed with a sharklike smile. "Let's play." Her fingers were going so fast they almost seemed to blur.

(Clark raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if that was still inside human limitations. That serum he'd given her almost two months ago coming back to mind. Jor-El had said it would make her more durable, but hadn't said anything on specifics… Maybe he should ask…?)

He couldn't quite keep up with the number of windows she had pulled up, was discarding, then pulling new ones. It was like a loop. And none of them had pictures, it was all text in various colors and fonts. "Okay, new plan," Hope sang-growled. Her fingers flew. Her grin came back. "That's right. Chase me." In less than two seconds, she leaned back with a crow of triumph. "Have fun getting out of the wormhole. Dumbass." She stretched slightly, flexing her hands a couple times, before she bent forward again. "Okay, what were you looking for…? Other than the obvious…"

Clark brought her a bowl of the stew. "How's it going?"

"I win. Dumbass is apparently not as dumb as he first appeared. He's seriously paranoid! I mean, wow-levels of paranoia. I think he was trying to figure out how I was, where I was, and what I knew about him. As if I kept records of that on my system. Dumbass." She wrote a quick email and sent it off.

 _Better luck next time. Like I would keep such sensitive information on a computer? Who would I tell anyway?_

 _Oh, and I also thought of libraries. Several studies show that those in higher education were about 85% likely to have an early access to reading and the love of reading. Not a guarantee of course, but its something to consider._

 _You'_ _re Still a Dumbass,  
_ _Have you Learned Something Yet?_

"Dinner?" she asked, hopeful.

Clark laughed, nodded, and held out the bowl. "I've got to go patrol. I'll be back later…with your surprise present."

Hope blinked at him, then groaned. "You're so _mean_!"

He laughed, knowing now that she didn't mean it. It was only that delay of gratification wasn't her strongest point. Patience wasn't a virtue she had yet to obtain.

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

Hope blinked as Superman gently deposited a red-wrapped in her arms. She let out a 'umph!' as the bundle was heavier than expected. The bundle was very lumpy…and moving. "Claaark…" she elongated his name in worry.

He laughed softly, reaching out to pull a corner of blanket down. Revealing a white-fur covered puppy.

Hope blinked. The puppy looked at her for long seconds, then leaned up and carefully, hesitantly, licked her on her nose. Hope's heart melted and she cuddled the puppy closer to her chest. "I love him. He's perfect. He?" She questioned at her boyfriend.

"Yes, he's male. I've spent most of the last week or so training him. He should be a good companion for you. He's smarter than Earth dogs too."

"How much smarter?" she asked warily, though she also took that time to wiggle her nose with the puppy's. A look up at Clark, "Smartest breed is supposedly poodles, which has been estimated to be equivalent to an average 2-year-old human child."

Clark blinked. How did she know things like that? _When_ did she learn things like that? "Umm…not sure. Enough?" Enough so that the dog should be able to understand situations and protect her adequately when Clark couldn't be around.

"Guess we'll find out, huh?" she grinned, cuddling the pup. The puppy not only didn't mind, but wiggled until it could reach her face, licking her much more enthusiastically. "Does he have a name?"

"I've been calling him Krypto." Clark shrugged apologetically at her _look_. "I'm not good at naming things."

"He'll probably need something different, Clark. We can't be calling him Krypto in front of other people. Way too close to Krypton, Kryptonite, Kryptonian. He needs a new name."

"Right," he blushed, not having thought of the similarities. Or rather, the implications of saying it in public. He'd noticed the similarities and that was why he picked the name. Hindsight was 20/20. "Any come to mind?"

"I'll think about it. See what personality traits come up." She turned to go to the bedroom, then paused and looked back at Clark with a raised eyebrow. "Out of mild curiosity, did you _check_ that this building allowed pets before you thought to give me one?"

Looong pause. "Ummm…"

"Oh, Idiot…" she somehow managed to laugh and sigh at once. "Well, if we have to move, you get to help with the major lifting. And not just with my stuff, but Lois' too. She can't be a decoy if we don't live close."

He blinked. Blinked again. Then went for the sliding door, intent on flying out and having a chat with the building superintendent.

"Idiot?" he froze, looking back at her. She was grinning slightly, but with a raised eyebrow and a pointing finger. "Just use the phone. Call him and ask." She turned back. "Your daddy is an idiot, yes he is," she spoke in baby-talk to the cuddled puppy.

Clark couldn't help but smile at the image.

"And don't forget to come in here so we can break in the new bed!" she called again.

"Right." He didn't even get to take two steps before she shouted again.

"Phonecall first!"

"Damnit," he muttered under his breath, picking up the phone obediently.

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

Bruce Wayne looked over his computers in shock. He had one of the best, if not THE best, setups of any private owner. Ever. Eight large screens in the back. Six medium screens in front. Heavy duty processor with over 8 terabytes of data storage in six servers. The best firewall protection money could buy. Always kept up to date. He had kept himself up to date as well, on the latest software and coding. It made research a lot easier when one could simply hack into the database of whatever he was looking into for the necessary information.

And now, every screen but his main was down. Black. Nada. His main screen held a message:

SYSTEM FAILURE

OPERATOR ERROR

PASSWORD TO REINITIALIZE?

Then, under that, was a very strange email. Or it looked like an email. It also looked as if it had been hastily attached to the error message.

"Tea, Master Bruce?" Alfred offered politely. "Or perhaps a scotch?"

Bruce shook his head, gesturing to the screen. He knew his own expression was somewhere between impressed, horrified, angry, and woeful admiration. "Alfred, what…?" his tone was pleading. He didn't know what to do.

However, Alfred had already expressed his opinion of this 'Hoping You Learn Something' and apparently quite liked the sender. Who was a hacker. A very, very, very GOOD hacker. The butler looked at the message, the klaxon still sounding, though he was unperturbed. Gently, Alfred Pennyworth set his tray of drinks down, and leaned over the keyboard.

Five keystrokes.

The screens blinked and Bruce heard the whirl of the computers coming back online. "What? Alfred, what'd—" he sputtered.

Alfred, the quintessential English butler, who had seen three generations of Wayne's raised and cared for, gave his charge a _look_. "Sorry."

"What?"

"That was the password, Master Bruce. _Sorry_. Though I do suppose that any form of apology would have sufficed, given that you would not have been able to know anything more specific."

Long pause. "How did you know?"

The corner of Alfred's eye twitched. As someone who had literally grown up with the man, Bruce knew that his butler was holding himself back from some very choice words. "Women often simply want an acknowledgement of fault and a promise not to repeat the transgression."

"Women? _It's a woman?"_

Alfred sighed heavily. "Seems I've been remiss in your education. I do apologize Master Bruce. I'll endeavor to rectify such immediately. To begin, we must move away from your usual—"

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

 _Some lines taken from "Criminal Minds", season 3, episode 9. Lots of Hope's hacking skills come straight from Penelope. ^_^_

 _Hope is NOT a Mary-Sue! She makes lots of mistakes and has big personality flaws. Hope this chapter cleared that up a bit._

 **(Really) Posted:** 6.15.2020 **Wordcount:** ~2.9k

 _Please tell me what you think, but please don't be too harsh. I know it's not perfect. And let me know what you were thinking for the new name of Krypto the Superdog!_


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